The Dragonborn Comes
by Bullet With A Name On It
Summary: Darkness approaches. Tamriel is about to be engulfed in battles the likes of which have not been seen since the days of Reman Cyrodiil and Tiber Septim. Alduin returns, the chained beast that is the Empire awakens, evil strikes out in the night. And Skyrim is where it all will begin. What happens when the Dragonborn comes?
1. I: Unbound

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls or anything associated except my own creations.**

I

Unbound

He awoke with a start, still feeling like he was falling. He realised it was because he was on a hill. His head was throbbing for some reason, and he couldn't recall how he'd gotten where he was. Looking around, he saw a few things: he was in a horse-drawn carriage, the driver was a legionnaire…and he was tied up, clothed in rags, and had company. He looked at the landscape around him, noting that it was similar to the northernmost reaches of Cyrodiil. The man was disturbed by the prisoner across from him.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake," the prisoner said. He was a large, blonde man with fair skin. He was dressed in mail and furs, with a blue sash around his shoulders and down his torso. He had a short goatee the same golden blonde color as his hair and a scar across his left cheek. Light blue eyes stared back at the man's own dark brown ones. "You were trying to cross the border, right?" he continued. "Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there," he said, nodding to the man's right. He looked over and saw a small man in rags. His hair was light brown and combed back. He had little musculature and wasn't visibly scarred. The man also noticed a half dozen other men dressed similarly the same as the first, all of different appearances. But the one who caught his attention was the massive Nord to his immediate right.

Dressed in a matching set of clothes, he was obviously someone important. His outfit was quality and expensive. Layers of mail and furs, with steel plated gauntlets and boots. His slicked back blonde hair was graying, as was his goatee. His rather large nose showed signs of having been broken. The most striking thing however, was the gag. This one must have quite the sharp tongue.

The one pointed out as a thief spoke up as soon as the Nord was done talking. "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice an' lazy." Skyrim? They had taken him across the border. But why? "If they hadn' been lookin' for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell," he continued, his tone biting. The blonde man seemed amused. "You there. You an' me, we shouldn' be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers in binds now, thief," the blonde said spitefully.

"Shut up back there," the soldier driving said boredly, not even bothering to turn around. The man wasn't expecting him to have a Nordic accent. Now he was really wondering what the hell was going on.

"What's wrong with him, eh?" the thief said, indirectly addressing the gagged man. There wasn't even a pause before the blonde rounded on him.

"Watch your tongue!" he said sharply, "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the _true_ High King."

Wonderful. Another self-righteous bastard with an army of unquestioning loyalists to back him up. The thief was completely taken back.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. If they've captured you...Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits," the blonde man said, staring off into the trees.

The thief started losing it. If the man wasn't bound, he would've hit him. "Gods, no. This can't-this isn't happening. No. I-"

The blonde cut him off. "Face your death with some courage, thief!"

"Shut up! I don' wanna die! I don'...I..."

"Hey," the rebel said, his tone sad, "What village are you from horse thief?"

"Why do you care," the thief spat.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"I...Rorikstead. I'm from Rorikstead."

The carriage finally came into view of what the man assumed was their destination. A small village, probably no more than a few hundred inhabitants, and then only because of its location on the other side of the pass from Cyrodiil. A soldier patrolling the wall shouted down, "Imperator! Sir! The headsman is waiting!"

The man heard a voice he recognized. And one he never thought he'd hear again.

"Good. Let's get this over with."

The soldier shouted to some men on the inside to open the gates, the column riding through as they swung inward. The man committed the layout of the village to memory, just in case. Mostly housing, with a few shops, a blacksmith, an inn dominating much of the southern portion of the village. It likely did very well due to the soldiers constantly passing through. The whole village probably wouldn't exist if they didn't. A large fort dominated the area and he decided the village was built up around it, for use by the soldiers traveling through the pass.

The thief began muttering a prayer to the gods, while the blonde man rambled about an old lover from the village. The only useful thing was the name of the village: Helgen. The name sounded familiar to the man, but he'd never been here. Seeing Thalmor here though, the man already didn't like this place.

The carriages traveled to the far end of the village and stopped in an open area in front of one of the towers.

"Why are we stopping?" the thief asked, starting to lose it again.

"Why do you _think_?" the blonde replied, "End of the line."

The cart grated to a halt and the blonde man sighed heavily. "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting." The blonde had resigned himself to his fate. Given up. If he was so certain death was inevitable, why not go down fighting like a man, instead of on your knees bowing before your captors. If this was the extent of the famed Nordic fighting spirit, the man wasn't impressed. The thief disgusted him even more, shouting about his innocence and how he wasn't a rebel. He had no cock. The blonde had to kick him out of the cart when he refused to move. The man supposed he should've expected such cowardice from a thief.

Once grounded, all of the prisoners were lined up and their names rattled off lists, each of the ten prisoners crammed into each cart in a separate line. The man was lucky. He was in the line being overseen by a centurio, likely because of the special guest in the line. A beneficiarii began reading the names, starting with the big Nord named Ulfric.

He was finally down to the last three, which happened to be the man, the blonde, and the thief. "Ralof of Riverwood," he said, and the blonde man stepped forward and was directed to the area before the tower with the other prisoners. "Lokir of Rorikstead." The thief stepped forward and resumed sputtering out how he was innocent. When the centurio tried to force him to the block, he made a dash up the road towards the gate. He'd barely gone fifty feet when another soldier drew back his arm and launched his pilum at the thief, spearing him through his midsection. That left only the man remaining.

"You there, step forward." The man did so. "State your name."

The man straightened up what little bit he could, for his posture was already nearly perfect, even with the binds. He puffed out his chest a little and looked the other man in the eye.

"Marcus Maximus Tacitus," he said in a deep voice thickly laden with accent of a Cyrodilic man.

"You're a long way from the Imperial City. What are you doing in Skyrim?" The man declined to mention how they'd kidnapped him, instead just glaring at the slight Nord in front of him. "Sir, he's not on the list."

"He goes to the block. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't a criminal."

The beneficiarii nodded and wrote down the name. "We'll see your remains are returned to Cyrodiil."

The centurio led Tacitus to the block with the other prisoners. He arrived just as Tullius finished talking with the Jarl. Something that sounded suspiciously like a roar echoed through the village, but Tullius moved the proceedings along. A Breton priestess began a prayer. She had only talked for a few seconds when a redheaded Stormcloak interrupted her.

"For the love of Talos, just shut up and let's get this over with," he said, approaching the block.

The priestess huffed indignantly. "As you wish."

A soldier walked up and forced the rebel's head down onto the block. The man turned his head and spoke. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you-" He was cut off by the executioner bringing his axe down upon his neck. Blood spurted everywhere and pooled around the chopping block, the head rolling a few metres before a couple soldiers kicked it. Shouts could be heard. Some villagers yelling for the death of the Stormcloaks, while the rebels yelled insults at the soldiers. The centurio called out,

"You're next! The renegade from Cyrodiil."

Another roar sounded, a bit closer this time. Like whatever it was, was getting closer.

"Move!" the officer yelled. The other soldier pushed him towards the block. Tacitus looked at Tullius as he passed, locking eyes. He saw recognition flare.

"That's no renegade," he said, his accent not as thick as Tacitus remembered. "That man is a hero." Tullius motioned him over, drawing a dagger to cut his bonds. Before he could however, the sentries began yelling and pointing at the sky, unable to get out what they were trying to say.

Then another roar sounded and a dragon landed on the tower. The beast roared again, then made a different sound and a visible shockwave rushed towards the two men, sending them sprawling in different directions. Another rumbling sound and the sky changed. The clouds began to swirl like a cyclone and rocks of fire began to rain down from the heavens like the fire the catapults had rained upon the elves decades ago.

Tacitus spent little time looking and contemplating, though. His hands were bound and a dragon was massacring the village. The nearest gate had been smashed when the dragon destroyed the tower, so most people were running to the main gate on the other side of the village. He wanted to live however, and a mad dash across Helgen significantly lowered his chances of survival. Instead he ran into the other tower, across from the executioner's block.

It appeared he wasn't the only one with a brain. Some Stormcloaks had taken refuge within, including the Jarl.

"Jarl Ulfric. What is that thing? Could the legends be true?" the blonde man Ralof asked.

"Legends don't burn down villages," the Jarl said. "We need to move! Now!" he said. "Leave the wounded. There is nothing we can do for them now."

Tacitus stepped forward. "Cut me loose." One of the Stormcloaks started forward but was stopped by Ulfric.

"Stay your blade! I know who you are," he said, thrusting a finger at the man in front of him. "We cut you loose and you'll kill us the moment our backs are turned."

"If I were going to kill you, I would have done it already. Killing you gains me nothing yet. Instead of arguing we should get the hell out of here," he said. Ulfric sneered, but waved the man forward to cut Tacitus's bonds.

Ralof spoke up. "We should move up through the tower. Let's go." The men who were still in fighting condition climbed the stairs, where another Stormcloak was trying to move some rocks to clear the way to the roof.

"I just need to move some of these-" BAM. The dragon's head burst through the side of the tower, killing the rebel. Tacitus ducked down and motioned the others to follow suit. The beast opened its maw and Tacitus thought he heard what sounded like _Yol Toor Shul_ before a torrent of flame poured out. He put an arm in front of his face from the heat. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the dragon was gone. The men gathered near the hole the dragon made. Tacitus could see the dragon circling back toward the tower and jumped through, landing on the second floor of what used to be the inn. He tried to roll when he landed, but as soon as his shoulder hit the floor he crashed through to the ground level, landing on his back. He stood with a groan and pushed forward, not looking back. If they were smart they would have moved back before the dragon returned. Tacitus made it back outside and saw a few legion soldiers behind a pile of rubble with some villagers. One of the soldiers was yelling at a young boy, telling him to get behind cover. He made it just as the dragon thudded to the ground and unleashed a torrent of fire at them. He got his first good view of the beast. It was massive, bigger than the inn, with a wingspan twice the length of its body. The behemoth looked as though it had been carved from obsidian. Black scales with spikes protruding all over, and a tail like a mace. Its wings replaced its front legs. And the eyes. They were blood red, and Tacitus could see the anger and hatred in them. The dragon closed its maw and flew off. One of the soldiers turned to Tacitus and smiled.

"Still alive, eh. Keep close." He looked at the other soldiers and said, "We need to find command and help the defense. Come on."

The small squad of soldiers moved through the village towards the gate, dashing from cover to cover and keeping an eye on the sky. After passing through a burnt down house, they found Tullius trying to direct his soldiers out of Helgen. He was surrounded by mages trying to take down the dragon and the few archers he'd brought were doing their best to help. Tullius saw them and directed them to the keep.

Two men were grabbed by the dragon on the way. That left Tacitus and two other soldiers. They reached the keep and he slammed into the door. Their relief didn't last long however, once the three Stormcloaks decided to kill them. The blonde man Ralof went directly for Tacitus, swinging an old axe. He jumped backwards and tried to find a weapon. He dodged a few other attacks, before the blonde jabbed him in the gut then raised the axe with both hands for an overhead blow. Tacitus stepped close, grabbing the man's wrists and slamming his knee into his groin. Tacitus tore the axe from his hands as he dropped, then buried it in his skull.

The talkative soldier had slain his attacker with no problem. The other man had killed his opponent, but took a sword to the chest in the process. Tacitus went over and placed a hand on his shoulder, asking his name.

"Olaf," he coughed out. The other soldier knelt on the opposite side.

"Where are you from Olaf?"

"Whiterun...Gah. I'm not gonna make it? Am I?

"Afraid not. Do you have any family in Whiterun?"

"Aye sir, my wife, Joldi. And my sister."

"Is there anything you want to give them?"

"Aye." He pulled out a coin purse and a letter. "You'll give them this?" he asked, almost not wanting to believe it.

Tacitus nodded. "I will. Think of them, and rest. You did them proud."

Olaf smiled and closed his eyes, allowing himself to slip away. Tacitus took the purse and letter, but didn't have anywhere to put it. The other man spoke up. "There should be some armor around here that'll fit you. I'm Hadvar by the way."

"Tacitus," he replied, looking for a set that was big enough. Luckily many Nords were large, and he was able to find a set of the Lorica Segmentata the Legion used that would suffice. He buckled and tied the armor on and placed Olaf's things in a pouch. He grabbed a gladius from the weapon rack, strapping it on, and a scutum. Hadvar unlocked the gate leading deeper into the keep, and the two men made their way out of Helgen.

* * *

I

* * *

It took the better part of an hour before they exited the cave and walked back out into sunlight. They had to fight through the few Stormcloaks inside the keep, then pass through a series of tunnels filled with skeevers, frostbite spiders, and even a bear.

"Thought we'd never make it out," Hadvar said, obviously relieved to be outside again.

They started down the path when they heard the roar again. They dropped down behind some rocks as the dragon flew by.

"There he goes," the young legionnaire said. "That's one big son of a bitch. Looks like he's gone for good this time, though.

"Where will the remaining men have gone?" Tacitus asked as they started down the path again.

"Probably back to Solitude. That's Tullius's headquarters while he's in Skyrim."

Solitude was in the northwest. It was also the capital of Skyrim. There wasn't much else he knew about it.

"First I'm going back home to Riverwood. I need to rest and stock up. I'd be happy to take you there."

Where is it?"

Hadvar pointed off towards the northeast. "About half a day's walk that way."

"We had best get moving then."

They kept up a steady pace for about three hours before making camp. They caught some rabbits and roasted them over a fire, then fell asleep listening to the river rush by a few metres away. They set out just after dawn the next morning, stopping once to allow Hadvar to pray at a half circle of three large stones for a few minutes. They made it to the walls of the village about an hour before noon.

"Well, here we are. This is Riverwood."


	2. II: Riverwood

**So I've decided to release chapter two earlier than intended (much earlier), just to get things moving a bit. However, I am going to wait for a large amount of feedback before posting chapter three. I need to know that people actually want to read this story, because I have better things to do than write a story that nobody wants to read. On to the story.**

II

Riverwood

It was a pleasant enough place. Larger than Helgen, it probably housed over five hundred residents. Walls guarded the village in the north and south, with the river protecting the west and the mountain to the east. Tacitus could hear the voices of the villagers, the clang of a hammer on metal. He could smell the scent of steaming pastries fresh out of the oven and sawn lumber over at the mill. He could see men working, and women housekeeping, and children playing and laughing.

Tacitus followed Hadvar to the smith, where a muscular Nord man was hammering a piece of hot iron at the forge. The man placed the hot metal in the water trough, steam rising with a hiss.

Hadvar called out to the man, "Uncle Alvor. Hello."

The man looked, surprise clearly written on his face. "Hadvar? What are you doing here? Are you on leave from- Shor's bones, what happened to you, boy?"

"Shh, Uncle. I'm fine but-"

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"I'm alright. But please, keep your voice down. We should go inside to talk," Hadvar said, trying to calm his uncle.

The man was confused and didn't quite know how to respond. "What's going on?" he asked after a brief pause. "And who's this?" he gestured to Tacitus.

"He's a...friend. Saved my life in fact. Come on. I'll explain everything, but we need to go inside."

"Okay, okay. Come inside then. Sigrid will get you something to eat and you can tell me all about it," the smith said, leading the way into the house.

The inside was modest. Two beds, a few wardrobes, dressers, a table and chairs. A large fireplace sat in the middle of the wall opposite the door, an elk head hanging above and food stores and pots surrounding it. Stairs to the left led down below the main level.

"Sigrid! We have company!" Alvor shouted. Soon after, a pretty, red-haired Nord woman came up the stairs, closely followed by a girl of eight or nine years.

"Hadvar!" she exclaimed, surprise evident in her voice. "We've been so worried about you. You two must be hungry. Here, sit and I'll make you some food. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Just water is fine," Hadvar said.

"Wine, if you have it. Please."

"Of course," she said, and set about getting their refreshments and cooking a meal. Alvor resumed his questioning as the two men drank.

"Now then, boy. What's the big mystery? What are you doing here looking like you lost a fight with a cave bear?"

"I don't know where to start." Hadvar paused as he collected his thoughts. "I was assigned to Tullius's guard a few months ago. We ambushed Ulfric and his guard a mile or so across the border, in Cyrodiil. We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked...attacked by a dragon."

The blacksmith laughed nervously. "A dragon. That's...ridiculous. You aren't drunk," his voice changed, "are you boy?

"Husband," Sigrid chastised, "Let him tell his story," she said as she refilled Tacitus's cup.

"Not much more to tell really. Dragon burned the whole damn place to the ground. Mass confusion. I still can hardly believe it." He paused, collecting his thoughts for a moment. "I don't know who else made it out. I doubt I would have if not for my friend here."

"Then we are in your debt, um," Sigrid hesitated, not knowing his name.

"Tacitus."

"Tacitus," she repeated. "Thank you Tacitus." He nodded once.

"I need to get back to Solitude," Hadvar continued. "But I need food, supplies, rest. I thought you could-"

"Of course," Alvor interrupted with a wave of his massive hand. "Whatever you need." He turned to Tacitus. "Now, Tacitus. Any friend of Hadvar's is a friend of mine, and seeing how you saved his life, well. Anything you need, I'm glad to help in any way I can."

"Grazie."

"But we need your help. The Jarl needs to know about this dragon. Riverwood wouldn't stand much of a chance against a dragon without any soldiers. When you leave, if you could stop at Whiterun and get Jarl Balgruuf to send whatever soldiers he can, I'll be in your debt."

"Why not send someone now?" Tacitus asked. He didn't want to spend any more time in Skyrim than he had to.

"Well...I suppose we could. I just thought that since you would be leaving anyway, that you could-"

"Yes, alright," Tacitus interrupted, "You've fed and sheltered me. I'll do it."

"Thank you." The smith sounded relieved.

Sigrid brought over bowls of stew and the three men ate and talked some more.

"How do I get to Whiterun?"

Alvor finished chewing and said, "Head to the other side of town and cross the river. From there, just take the path to the right and follow the road north. You can't miss it. Once there just keep going up until you reach the big building at the top of the hill. That's the Jarl's palace. Dragonsreach."

"This Jarl. What makes you think he will send help?" Tacitus asked, taking another bite. Many times, ruling lords wouldn't give a shit if their lowborn citizens needed help.

"Jarl Balgruuf? He rules Whiterun Hold, and that includes Riverwood. He wouldn't leave his own people defenseless."

Sigrid walked over. "Would you like some more stew? Or another cup of wine?"

"Yes, thank you."

* * *

II

* * *

Tacitus sat at the counter in the Sleeping Giant, Riverwood's inn, drinking a mug of ale. Alvor had gone back outside to the forge and Tacitus decided he would stay at the inn. Sigrid had tried to lend him their home, but he didn't want to impose. They only had two beds and with Hadvar there they didn't need another mouth to feed. He also wanted to listen to the gossip.

The problem with staying at the inn, was that he was low on gold. Luckily, inns were also the perfect place to find some work. When he heard the owner of the general goods store talking about a break-in, he recognized his opportunity to make a few septims.

He stood and walked over to the table where the man was seated and sat next to him. "Something happen?"

The man regarded him a little suspiciously; nothing Tacitus didn't expect. "Uh, yeah, we did have a bit of a break-in. Over at my shop. Besides my money, they only took one thing. An ornament, a solid gold dragon claw.

Tacitus held out his hand. "Tacitus," he said, the other man shaking it.

"Lucan."

"I am in need of coin. I could get your claw back and bring you the heads of the thieves."

Lucan looked pleased. "No need for that, just the claw is fine. Whatever gold you can get from them is yours."

"Any idea where they went?"

"I heard something about Bleak Falls Barrow, and I saw them head up that way. I'd start there."

"Where is it?"

The woman sitting next to Lucan interjected, "I could show you."

Lucan's eyebrows formed a V and his tone made it clear they'd talked about this at length. "I already told you no. No adventures, no thief-chasing, nothing."

"Well I think your new helper needs a guide," she said defiantly. She stood up, ignoring Lucan yelling after her, and walked out the door, Tacitus a few paces behind.

She led him across town to the small bridge just outside the walls. He'd be lying if he said he didn't indulge in the way her hips swayed as she walked. She was a pretty Cyrodilic woman, with the common black hair, and wearing a simple, tight-fitting dress. She couldn't have been more than twenty years. Tacitus assumed she was Lucan's sister. Maybe a cousin.

"That's the barrow there," she said, pointing to a group of stone arches up in the mountain on the other side of the river. "You'll have to cross the bridge and follow that path to the left up the mountain."

"I'll be on my way then. Shouldn't take long."

"Yes, I should get back to my brother before he throws a fit. He's so protective of me. I'm Camilla by the way," she said and held out her hand. Tacitus took her hand and kissed it.

"Un piacere, Camilla. I am Tacitus."

The girl giggled. "Che un incantatore! You're a strapping young man. Don't be a stranger."

Tacitus graced her with a small smile. "You're a pretty young lady. You should have a little excitement every now and then." She smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"You better get going before Lucan comes to get me."

Tacitus turned and began his trek up the mountain. As he climbed higher it began to snow and he found himself wishing for a cloak and shoes that didn't leave his toes exposed. After fifteen minutes the wind picked up and he started moving faster. He could see a tower maybe a hundred metres away. As he approached the tower, Tacitus heard voices. He couldn't tell what they were saying, as the wind carried it away from him, but anyone out here was likely a bandit. He figured they must've been part of the gang that raided Lucan's store and were there to make sure no one reached the barrow.

Tacitus readied his shield and drew his sword. He advanced slowly, staying close to the rocks and making as little noise possible. He was about ten metres from the tower by the time he could actually see them. There were four: one leaning against a tree about three metres away, one walking back and forth across a small bridge leading to the tower, one inside the tower on the bottom level, and the last at the top, staring off into the distance. Tacitus had covered his shield in snow so that they couldn't see the red paint and metal boss. He wasn't going to get any closer undetected so he charged the man leaning against the tree.

The man didn't even get his weapon out before being stabbed in the heart and having his throat slit. The snow was stained red and Tacitus felt better than he had in a long time. The one patrolling the bridge charged him, while the archer on the inside, who happened to be a woman, fired at him. The man closed the distance quickly, swinging a mace and managing to not get shot. Tacitus took two hits to his shield then bashed the man and stabbed him in the throat. He advanced on the archer, taking every arrow with the shield. He heard something clatter to the ground and heard the sound of metal on leather. He peeked out from behind the shield and saw the woman running at him with a dagger. He swung the shield up, clipping her under the chin and sending her sprawling in the snow. He didn't like killing women, but the bitch tried to knife him. He stabbed her through the heart.

By this time, the last bandit had made it to the ground and seen his comrades lying in the snow. _These bandits are not very smart_, Tacitus thought as the man charged him. He had his sword raised high and his shield almost forgotten on his other arm. Tacitus simply braced himself behind his shield and when the rogue was close, slammed it into him. The man hit the stone and fell off the little bridge. It was a short fall, but landing on one's head and cracking it and their neck was usually fatal.

Tacitus cleaned his blade on the dead archer's furs and sheathed it. He searched the bodies for coin and checked the tower for any valuables, finding a chest with a few pouches of septims and a couple amulets. That alone would get him to Whiterun and back across the border to Cyrodiil, and if he hadn't made a deal with Lucan, he probably would have done so. But he was a man of his word, and he forged onward down the path and around the bend.

A massive set of stairs led up to the barrows. The arches were far larger than he'd originally thought. He couldn't see the entrance yet, but he counted three more brigands patrolling the area at the top of the steps. One man was wielding a battle axe; he wouldn't be a problem. It was the two archers Tacitus was concerned with. They were on different sides of the stairs, and his shield would only protect him from one. Then he wondered what the hell he was thinking. These were thieves and cutthroats, not trained killers like himself. As long as he kept moving he'd be fine.

He kept his back to the wall and his shield in front of him in case the archer spotted him. When he was nearly at the top he sprinted towards the axeman, slashing his throat before he knew what was happening. He could see both archers bringing their bows up and he brought up his shield as the one on the left fired. He turned his head to see the second archer release and he stepped aside. Unfortunately for the other man, that meant he took the arrow in the groove just above the sternum. Fortunately for Tacitus, that meant he could deal with the last man as he saw fit, which entailed charging the man with his shield up, slashing his leg just below the knee and plunging his sword into his heart through the clavicle. Tacitus forwent looting and walked through the giant black doors into Bleak Falls Barrow.

* * *

II

* * *

Broken masonry and dead skeevers littered the floor. Tacitus pushed ahead through tunnels and traps and down stairs and through gates that could only be unlocked by solving a puzzle. He killed every bandit he came across. The farther into the barrow and the deeper underground he went, the darker it got, causing him to sling the shield on his back and make himself a torch. The stench got worse as well the farther he went. The stink of dead flesh was almost overpowering and now there were other smells he couldn't even begin to explain their origin. After descending a set of spiral wooden stairs and walking a short way down the hall he came upon a web. A big web. It covered the entire passage. Luckily it wasn't very thick, and he just used the torch to clear the way. At the end of the hall there was only one passage, leading to the left. This time the web was much thicker, and it took him a little while to burn through it. As he lit the web he heard someone on the other side call,

"Is someone coming? Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? _Soling_? I know I ran ahead, but I need help!"

Tacitus readied his sword before going through; he knew there was at least one spider in the next room. He peeked around the edge of the doorway as a giant spider dropped down from its web, coming to investigate why the man was yelling. "No, not again!" the voice yelled. "Help!"

Tacitus waited until it was facing away from him, then moved in slowly, barely faster than a crawl. The spider was about a metre out of reach when he closed the distance and sliced off two of its legs. It tried to turn, but he hacked off another two legs and ran up its back, plunging his sword through its head. He lit the body, just to make sure. He then turned to the dark elf caught in the web who had made it much easier to take care of the eight-legged freak.

"You did it. You killed it. Now cut me loose before anything else shows up."

"Where is the claw?"

"Yes, the claw! I know how it works! Cut me down and I'll show you how it works. You wouldn't believe the treasure the Nords have hidden here."

"Why would I do that?"

"Um...because-because you're not going to get the claw while I'm trapped here."

Tacitus shoved his blade through the elf's throat and freed him before he bled to death or choked on his blood. "It's better this way." The elf didn't respond except for the gurgling as he died. Tacitus searched the body for the claw and found the elf's journal. He quickly read through the single entry that was dated after the break-in. The last few words were "_When you have the golden claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands."_ The way it was written made it clear that this solution was incredibly obvious. _The palm of your hands_, he thought. He picked up the claw and noticed three engraved circles on the palm of the claw. A bear, a dragonfly, and an owl. It would be of use later he was sure, but right now he could find no relevancy.

He continued deeper into the barrow, eventually coming to a room with alcoves in the walls. Many had dead Nords in them. Some were wrapped in linens, while others still had their weapons, as if guarding the barrow. With that thought Tacitus unsheathed his blade and prepared for the worst. He had made it to the adjacent room when they arose. One of them sat up and slid out of the alcove not five feet in front of him. The dead man looked like he was still decomposing, or maybe he was just cursed. The skin had rotted away, as had the veins and arteries. Only the most minimal amount of muscle remained; just enough to allow it to move. It had a dull red beard and some of its hair still somehow remained. He could see the rusted ringlets of its mail armor hanging from underneath the thick plates covering its chest. The eyes glowed blue, which was unnerving, but it was the smell that made him grimace. The undead warrior unsheathed an ancient blade, black and crooked, and growled something in a strange tongue that sounded like _Aav Dilon_, reminding him of the dragon at Helgen. The thing swung at Tacitus and he used the torch to redirect the blow then decapitated it with ease, the sword slicing through the half-rotted muscle and bone like a knife through butter. He turned to see three more coming at him, armed with either a sword or an axe. He was able to use the same move on the first of the three, redirecting its blade and lopping off its head, but the other two weren't so easy. He kicked one away and tried to light the other on fire, but the dead Nord appeared completely unaffected by the fire. It used its axe to rip the torch from Tacitus's grip and slammed it into his side. His armor protected him from death, but the wound was still nothing to be taken lightly. As the corpse swung again, he cut off its arm and decapitated it. The other one tried to stick him with its sword, but he turned so that it hit the shield and left it open to a counter. He cleaved it through the skull and halfway down its torso, then kicked it away once more.

Tacitus inspected the wound on his side. It was bleeding pretty good. He took the risk of taking off his armor and treating it, pouring water and then a small bottle of healing elixir that he'd found on one of the bandits, to make sure it didn't get infected. He then wrapped it in linen and strapped his armor back on, piece by bent and broken piece.

The rest of the way through progressed in much the same way, with a few swinging axe traps and pots of burning oil set off by pressure plates. He was a bit more careful and managed to make his way through the undead without any more mishaps. At last he came upon the passageway that the elf's journal had described as the "Hall of Stories". Scenes were carved into the walls, but Tacitus couldn't tell what any of them were. A door blocked the way to the end of the passage. Three rings surrounded a circle that had three holes; perfect for the claw. He looked at it again: bear, dragonfly, owl. Tacitus spun the rings so that they were in that order, the largest, outermost ring the bear and the smallest and innermost ring the owl. Then he stuck the claw into the holes and twisted as far as it would go. He pulled it out and the rings spun so that they were all on the owl, and he could hear wheels grinding as the door lowered into the earth.

He ascended the stairs and walked down the short passage, and into a massive cavern. There was a waterfall at the far end, behind a giant, curved rock on a raised platform. He walked across the small bridges spanning the water, up the stairs and over to the wall. He eyed the sarcophagus that was on a small platform of its own with a chest, but nothing happened, so he turned to the rock. The inside of the curve was smooth, with strange lines carved into it. A symbol that looked like a dragon head was carved above it. A specific segment of lines seemed to almost glow as he approached. He ran a hand over the lines and suddenly a wispy tendril of...something, circled his body, the tip pointing at his forehead. It paused there a few seconds, then stabbed at his head, pushing through until all of it had invaded his mind. But no, not invaded. For now he understood. Those lines were the written variant of an ancient language, and they read _Fus_. And he understood that in the tongues of men and mer, it meant "Force". "_Fus_" he said, almost expecting something to happen when he did, and feeling slightly disappointed when nothing did. He turned and started for the chest, and the cover of the sarcophagus was thrown off the top. One of those corpses that Tacitus had begun to hate rose from within. This one was different though. It looked basically the same as the others, but it was a good deal taller and wore a helm. On its back was a sword that was nearly as tall as its owner. The same rusted piece of black metal as the others wielded, but no less deadly than any other weapon. The undead drew the blade and roared at Tacitus. He simply threw the torch at its head and charged, unslinging his shield as he ran. He ducked the first swing and slashed its spine as he stepped sideways. It blocked his next strike and swung the hilt upwards, just missing his chin. It brought the blade down and he took the blow on his shield, the impact jarring his arm in a way that nothing had done since he fought in the war. He pushed it back and cut off one arm, then the other. The corpse roared its defiance as his blade met its neck. The head dropped to the floor with a thud and Tacitus kicked the body, sending it back and landing next to its head.

He set about looting the chest, which contained some gemstones (nothing special), a few cheap arms and armor that were probably very expensive a few eras ago, and a strange stone. It had the same dragon carving on the front, along with what looked like a map of Skyrim, a few areas marked with a special symbol. The back was more of those lines that represented that strange language. It looked important so he threw it in his pack along with the gems.

A few minutes later he was back outside and breathing fresh air. He could see Riverwood a mile or so to the east. He climbed down the mountainside and was on his way back to Riverwood and hopefully some additional payment.

* * *

II

* * *

"Here it is."

Lucan looked up as Tacitus placed the claw on the counter. "Hah! You've found it!" He laughed. "There it is. I'll never forget this. You've done a great thing for me. I found this before I opened up my shop. I used to be a bit of an adventurer like you, then I got enough money to start my business and here I've been ever since. I always kept it because it was one of the first really valuable things I ever found. But anyway, there is some coin on the table there," he said, pointing to the small table in front of the fireplace. Camilla came down the stairs as he was walking towards the door.

"You weren't going to leave without saying 'Hello' were you?"

"Salve, signora. You are looking as beautiful as ever," he said, bowing his head. Camilla giggled at his theatrics.

"It means a lot for you to bring the claw back. Come with me to the inn. I'll buy you a drink as a proper thank you," she said. Tacitus heard what she was really saying though: _Let's go to the inn and have a little fun_. Well who was he to deny a beautiful young woman such a simple pleasure?

"I would enjoy a drink."

"Camilla," Lucan cut in, "You're still at work." He probably guessed what her intentions were. Hell, an idiot could figure out what she was really getting at.

She waved a hand at her brother. "We're about to close anyway. I don't think anyone else is going to come in ten minutes before we close."

"But- oh fine! Go be stupid. You'll regret it later," he yelled after her, his words falling on deaf ears.

They had only had one drink before she dragged him into one of the empty rooms in the inn. She undid the clasps and straps on his armor, pulling each section off and dropping it to the floor. Tacitus's manhood was starting to awaken at the imminent act that it knew was coming. The fact that Camilla's nipples were erect and poking through her thin dress with her own arousal certainly helped also. Tacitus was thankful that he had washed his face and arms in the river before returning. He didn't want to get blood and the smell of death all over such a pretty flower. She had finished with his armor and he went for her dress, but she slapped his hands away. "You don't do much talking or smiling. I'd like to see you use your mouth a bit more," she grinned.

Tacitus raised an eyebrow," You want to see me use my mouth? Wait until I have that dress off you." Camilla giggled.

"And you have never done this before?" She shook her head, smiling. "Are you sure about this?"

"You're the one who said a 'pretty girl like me has to have some excitement every now and then.'"

He raised his eyebrow again. "This is not quite what I meant."

She just smiled and lightly tapped his lips. "Get to work."

Tacitus walked around her and placed the laces keeping her dress up between his teeth, pulling until they were all undone. Walking back around, he bit the dress just above her cleavage, pulling it down and his rough, stubbly face lightly tickled her skin, making her shudder. He was pleased to see that she wore nothing beneath her dress, allowing him an unrestricted view of her body. Short and slender, with enough meat on her so she wasn't bony, but still slender. Her breasts were on the smaller side, but that didn't bother Tacitus. In fact, he preferred smaller sized breasts for a number of reasons. Not that he wouldn't enjoy a pair of large ones if they were available. Her lower region was trimmed into a neat triangle, as was common in warmer areas of Tamriel, Camilla being Cyrodilic by birth.

She walked over and pulled off his tunic and loincloth, exposing his body to the warm air of the inn. She ran her hands along his bulging muscles, causing him to moan. It had been too long since he'd had a woman do this for him. His muscles were large and well-defined, and although he certainly wasn't the tallest man, he was rather large for a Cyrodilic, the top of Camilla's head just about reaching his chin. He'd had enough of this fooling around though. He pulled the young woman in close, one hand on the back of her neck and the other gripping her rear and keeping her in place. She seemed a bit nervous at that, but it was quickly dispelled when he kissed her with a gentleness she didn't think he possessed. She returned the action, surprising him by opening her mouth and pressing her tongue against his lips. They parted and his tongue slipped out, lightly brushing against hers and causing her to smile a little. He broke contact first, not knowing how far he could push her. She responded by putting her arms around his neck and gripping his waist with her legs. Her nipples brushed against the hair on his chest and she moaned, her current situation making her body much more sensitive. Their tongues danced for a short while, and Camilla could feel the desire rising inside her, while Tacitus could feel it dripping down his lower regions. His member was at full attention, nestling itself in the cleft of the woman's rear. Tacitus started slowly rocking his hips as they kissed, the sensation of his phallus on her tight rear hole and outer lips sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her and she moaned into his mouth, her breath tasting of berries and wine. She ran her hands down his back and through his short black hair, making him groan in pleasure. He returned the favor, gripping one side of her bottom and lightly trailing his fingers along her spine, starting at her neck, going down to where her back curved to become her ass and back again, each movement causing pleasure to lightly ripple through her.

Tacitus moved over to the bed, breaking contact again, each of them taking ragged breaths. He gently laid Camilla down and stretched out on top of her, his arms keeping him above her. She reached up and their mouths connected again. He moved to nip at her neck, leaving marks to remind her of this night. She was running her hand along his unshaven jaw-line when he pushed into her impossibly tight hole, his member breaking through her barrier and causing her to cry out. She hadn't expected such pain from such a pleasurable affair and tears welled. Tacitus placed his mouth on hers again, the duel for dominance distracting her from the pain. He started to thrust, gently at first, but rapidly gaining speed as she stretched a bit and her moans cried for him to go faster. The sensation of him filling Camilla up was causing the shockwaves to hit her with such intensity that she was certain the whole village would've heard her scream if he hadn't placed his mouth over hers. Camilla dug her nails into his back as his hand found a breast and fondled it, no longer using the gentle caresses of the first round, now he was groping her, playing with her nipple with his thumb as his hand cupped and gripped her mound. As Tacitus picked up speed and put more power into his thrusts, Camilla couldn't form a coherent thought.

After a few minutes he flipped her over and picked her up while still managing to keep pumping. She was on her knees with her hands against the wooden walls of the inn, one of his hands groping her buttocks while the other played with the sensitive nub at the top of her folds. Without his mouth to suffocate her moans and cries, Camilla screamed out loud, not caring who heard her anymore. The sound of his body slapping against hers echoed through the inn and the sound somehow aroused her even more, the sensations she was feeling becoming even more intense. At that point Tacitus was ramming his member into Camilla as hard and fast as he could, the two of them like animals rutting.

He flipped her one last time so that she was on her back again, her legs over his shoulders and his member penetrating even deeper. Her small breasts jiggled as Tacitus pounded into her and he grabbed them, running his hands along the smooth skin, squeezing the luscious mounds, and flicking his thumbs over her sensitive nipples. She moaned as his hands groped the little hills, waves of ecstasy flooding through her from his throbbing member slamming into her slick folds. She felt her release coming on and when she came, she bit her lip so hard she drew blood, finally screaming out loud as waves of pleasure rushed over her and waves of her womanly nectar rushed over Tacitus's groin, her walls clamping hard around his manhood. Tacitus's release followed less than a minute later, spewing his seed into her womb and groaning loudly as he released wave after wave into Camilla.

He let her put her legs down and then fell onto the bed next to her. She moved closer to him, placing her head on his chest while he placed his arm around her and continued playing with her buttocks.

"How old are you?"

"It's not polite to ask a lady her age," she smiled. He just looked at her. "Fine," she sighed, "I'm twenty-two. Ask Lucan if you don't believe me."

"Twenty-two? And this was your first time? Even for a girl from Cyrodiil that's unusual. Hell, that's unusual for a Breton girl."

She just smiled and trailed her fingers along his chest. "I wanted it to be special."

"Hmph."

"So...I won't have a baby will I?"

"Just hope the time wasn't right and pray that the seed does not blossom." _Fuck_.

Tacitus was back in his armor and at the counter immediately after Camilla left. Everyone in the inn stared as he walked up to the man behind the counter and ordered an ale. The dark-haired Nord placed the mug on the table and fixed Tacitus with a stare. "We don't usually loan out our rooms for that."

"I paid."

"So did the rest of these people, but that isn't what they paid for."

Tacitus took a long drink from the mug. "You could have asked us to leave at any time."

An older Breton woman walked up behind Tacitus and grabbed his arm. "Get out of my inn."

"I paid for a room. What does it matter what I do with it?"

"I don't run a brothel; I run an inn and tavern. Now get out or Orgnar will make you."

Tacitus finished his drink in one large gulp and dropped a few septims on the counter. All eyes were on him as he walked to the door, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did.

* * *

II

* * *

"How long would it take?"

Alvor sighed. "Well, if I stayed at the forge, I could have it done before the next day. Sigrid won't like it, but I could get it done quicker."

Tacitus's face showed no emotion and his tone was apathetic at best, but when he spoke the smith knew he was thinking kindly. "If you would prefer to wait until morning, it is not a problem."

"No problem at all, my friend. I'll have it done in a few hours, probably less but it's better to make sure."

"Grazie."

Tacitus handed over the armor he'd acquired at Helgen and went into the house to wait for the repairs to be done. He'd gone over to Lucan's store and sold the trinkets and gems he'd found in Bleak Falls Barrow. The merchant wasn't pleased with what had happened, but he didn't mention any of it. Camilla had blushed when he walked in and he graced her with a rare smile.

Immediately after that, he'd gone to Alvor to have his armor repaired. Now he sat inside the smith's house, waiting for his armor and listening to Sigrid talk about anything and everything she could. Tacitus's face didn't show any emotion. He rarely showed any emotion at all. But he nodded his head to let her know he was listening. It was rather surprising because word of his little escapade had traveled throughout the town before it was even finished. The second she saw him after he was inside she'd said, "I'm spoken for, so don't get any ideas!" Her tone made it clear that she, along with most everyone else in Riverwood, disapproved of such a blatant act that most people here did in private. Then she just started talking as if they'd been friends for years.

He was saved just over an hour later when Alvor walked into the house and told Tacitus his armor was done. He went out and strapped it on. It was as though nothing had happened. He gave the man a small purse of septims, thanked him, and grabbed his sword and shield. It was about time he went to Whiterun.


	3. III: The City on the Hill

III

The City on the Hill

Even from a few miles out, Whiterun was impressive. Judging from the amount of buildings he could see in the light of the full moon, Tacitus estimated that there were at least forty thousand inhabitants within the walls of the city. Not surprising in a central location that was a major trade center. The city was on a hill that overlooked the surrounding plains, looking like a splash of color on an otherwise monotonous canvas, with a number of small farms dotting the immediate area around the walls and a stable just before the first drawbridge. It wasn't the Imperial City, but it looked to be a nice place.

It was nearly another hour before he was at the walls of the city. They stood tall and, even though crumbling in some areas, strong. Guards were posted in wooden structures within the outer wall and patrolled along the city wall. As he crossed the inner drawbridge one of the two men stationed at the gates stepped forward. "Halt!" he shouted, his hand gripping his sword hilt. Tacitus noted that the city guards were outfitted similarly to the Stormcloaks, but with a yellow sash and metal gauntlets and greaves replacing the fur. A metal and wood shield painted yellow and with the sigil of Whiterun in the center was strapped to his arm, and a gladius was strapped to his belt. All the men wore helmets. "The city's closed. No travelers allowed inside until morning."

"I bring news from Helgen and Riverwood. I must speak with the Jarl."

The man was silent for a few seconds, obviously deciding whether or not to allow him entry. "Fine. But we'll be keeping an eye on you." He turned and pounded on the gate. "Let him through!" A few seconds passed and the gates swung inward, allowing Tacitus through, then closed behind him.

The city appeared to be organized in three main sections; the first level seemed to be comprised of all the shops, inns, and other such places that provided goods and services. The next level up, which could be reached by one of a number of stone staircases, was all housing for a majority of the city's residents. There was also a small commons surrounding a massive, dead-looking tree. The highest level at the top of the hill was made up of only a few buildings: the palace he knew to be Dragonsreach, a temple (to what god he didn't know), an enormous building that appeared to have an overturned ship for a roof, and a few larger houses that most likely belonged to the nobility. A large road ran through the middle of the city, separating each level (which were shaped like a semicircle) into halves. The buildings were mostly wood with shingled roofs. He could hear the low rushing of the waterways that ran throughout the city.

Tacitus followed the main road straight to the Jarl's palace. After some time he finally reached the top of the final set of stairs. The guards on duty called for him to stop and state his business. He repeated his words to the men outside and the guard reluctantly let him pass. Tacitus pushed open the heavy wooden doors and instantly a wave of hot air rushed out into the cool night, bringing with it the scent of alcohol, tobacco, and the lingering aroma of dinner. He stepped inside and shut the doors, admiring the room. He appeared to be in a sort of "Great Hall". He could see the Jarl in his throne at the other end, a giant skull mounted on the wall above him. The room was surprisingly simple, yet elegant and beautiful. Wood and stone created the walls and supports, the ceiling metres above him. Pillars lined the sides, banners bearing the horse of Whiterun hanging on each.

A few servants milled about performing their duties, some pausing as he walked by. As he walked up the steps, Tacitus could feel the heat from the massive fire in the floor. Beyond it, the Jarl sat on his throne and was engaged in a heated conversation with two of his advisors. Tacitus passed by a number of guards lining the walls, starting to show their weariness at the late hour, for it was nearly the early morning of the next day. He had just made it to the top of the steps when the Dark Elf standing to the Jarl's left drew her sword and advanced on him, making him wonder how many people were going to try to prevent him from speaking to the Jarl (and if they were all so easy to persuade, how the man hadn't been assassinated already).

"What is the meaning this interruption?" the leather-armored elf asked, the firelight glinting off the blade of her steel sword. Her grey skin and red eyes were typical of one of her kind. She was quite thin, but Tacitus could see the wiry muscles on her arms. "Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors," she continued. Her tone was anything but friendly, but that didn't bother him in the least. He wasn't much for elves, nor they for him.

"Step aside, elf," he said, pushing past her. "I have business with your liege-lord." This didn't sit well with the she-elf, who put her sword to the back of his neck. Wordless, Tacitus turned and knocked the blade away with his right hand, his left sending a savage uppercut to the elf's chin, knocking her on her back and stunning her. Immediately the Jarl's guards drew their weapons and surrounded him. Maybe not the best start, but she asked for it. "Next time I won't be so-"

"Enough!" Balgruuf shouted, rising from his seat. "Give me a reason not to have my guards beat you and throw you in the dungeon!"

Tacitus turned, his face emotionless as always. He studied the Jarl, taking in his appearance. Dressed in finely tailored robes, with a gold, gem encrusted circlet resting on his head, the Jarl was an imposing figure. He was no longer a young man, as his graying blonde hair attested, but he still appeared to be in fairly admirable shape. A dagger hung at his waist, and a steel longsword leaned against his throne, a gem in the pommel and runes carved into the hilt. He wore a pair of fur-lined leather boots, and several rings glinted on his fingers. A gold chain hung around his neck.

The elf rose and stood next to him, sword still drawn and a look of hatred practically carved into her features. The tension in the room was obvious.

"I bring news from Helgen and Riverwood."

The Jarl was nearly as enraged as his elf. "What news?" he snapped.

"A dragon attacked Helgen a few days ago. Alvor sent me from Riverwood to call for aid."

The anger on the Jarl's face changed to surprise. "You were at Helgen?"

"Yes. The dragon razed the village. Few of its people survived."

The Jarl turned to the balding Cyrodilic man on his right. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

"My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once," the elf said. "If that dragon is still lurking in the mountains..."

The man Proventus spoke up, caution edging his words. "The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation. He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him. We should not-"

"Enough!" the Jarl barked. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people." He turned to the elf. "Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once. And to the rest of the settlements in the hold. As many as we can spare. Then spread the word that we need more men. Any able-bodied lad who's seen at least sixteen winters."

"Yes, my Jarl," she said, putting her fist to her breast, then seeing to the Jarl's orders.

"Well done," Balgruuf said, turning to Tacitus. "You've brought me vital information. You've done Whiterun Hold a great service, and I won't forget it, even if you did knock my Housecarl on her back." He tossed a small purse at Tacitus. "Here. Take this as a small token of my esteem."

_Very small_, Tacitus thought. _Judging by the weight, I couldn't even pay for a whore with what's in this._

"There is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone of your…particular talents, perhaps. Come," he said, rising, "let's speak to Farengar, my court wizard." At the word "wizard" Tacitus's mouth twisted in distaste. He hated magic users. Arrogant bastards always thought they were better than everyone else because they could conjure up spectral puppets for magic shows. He'd never seen any do any _real _work in their worthless lives. "He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and…rumors of dragons." He walked into a room behind one of the tables near the fire. Scrolls and alchemical ingredients covered every available inch of space. A small Nord man in blue mage robes stood behind the desk in the center of the room, staring at a scroll. He looked up when he heard the men enter.

"Farengar. I think I've found someone who can help with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill him in," Balgruuf said, then walked away.

The sorcerer looked him over then said doubtfully, "So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons." Really? And here he was, wondering why the Jarl brought him here. _Imbecille_, he thought.

"Davvero? Non lo sapevo."

"What?"

"Niente. What do you want?"

"I could use someone like you to fetch something for me," the wizard said, not even looking at him.

Tacitus's face didn't change, but his eyes glared murderously at the scrawny mage. "Fetch?" he said, just barely keeping his voice even.

"Yes, fetch. Do you speak the common tongue, or only that archaic language you seem to prefer?" he said snobbishly. "I need someone to delve into an ancient and dangerous ruin in search of an artifact that may or may not be there."

Tacitus exhaled through his nostrils; the only outward sign of his anger other than his eyes. "Where am I going, and what am I retrieving?"

"Ah, straight to business, eh? No tedious how's and why's. Leave those questions to your betters, am I right?"

His jaw clenched. This man was nearly undoing decades of perfecting an emotionless exterior and a stony interior. He said calmly, "You have no idea how difficult it is for me not to reach over this table and kill you with my bare hands, charlatan."

The Nord smiled cockily. "But you know better."

"Do I? I don't give a shit for the Jarl's opinion, and I knocked the elf on her ass right in front of him. What do you think I would do to you?"

The smile faltered. "Uhm- I- uh- I need you to go to Bleak Falls Barrow and find an- an ancient stone tablet," he managed to stutter out.

Tacitus reached into his bag and pulled out the stone. "This?"

The mage looked surprised, his eyes wide. "The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! You've already found it! You're cut from a different block than the usual brute the Jarl throws my way." He took the stone and placed it on the table.

"Now what?"

The mage smiled at the stone. "Now my work begins."

"I was referring to my payment."

The smirk returned. "Perhaps not so different after all."

Tacitus put his hands on the table and leaned in close to the wizard, saying in a voice that showed he meant what he said, "One day, I will cut out your tongue and feed it to you as you scream in agony. And then I will throttle you with my bare hands." He turned and walked from the room to find the Jarl and receive his payment. As he was walking toward the stairs to the side of the throne, he heard the elf yell, "Farengar!" He was less than halfway up when he heard her shout, "You there! Mercenary! You should come with us to see the Jarl!"

"I was on my way to receive my payment just now."

He could hear the disgust in her voice when she spoke next. "We have more important matters now. A dragon's been sighted. Come on!" He followed her up the stairs alongside the mage and a Whiterun guardsman. The guard was young, twenty-four or twenty-five, and was covered in cuts and dirt and blood. His uniform was filthy and ragged.

They waited outside the living quarters as a guard went to rouse the Jarl. "What's going on?" he asked as he entered.

Irileth looked at the guard then turned back to the Jarl. "This man came from the Western Watchtower. Go on," she said to the young man, "tell him what you told me."

The soldier stepped forward, his thick accent making him sound ridiculous as he stuttered out an explanation. "There was- I…We saw a- a dragon. It came from the south. It was- fast, my lord. Faster than anything I've- we've ever seen."

Balgruuf appeared stunned, but he spoke quickly and calmly. "What was it doing? Is it attacking?"

"No- I mean…it _was_. But it flew off and the others sent me to get help. I never ran so fast in my life; I was sure it would come after me."

Balgruuf put a hand on the lad's shoulder. "Good work, son. We'll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You've earned it."

"My lord, I respectfully request to join whatever detail you send to the tower." Tacitus gave the lad credit. He was young and inexperienced, but he was loyal and he had a cock between his thighs. He served his liege, as well as his fellow soldiers.

"No. I know how you feel. Hell, I'd be asking the same damn thing in your position. But you're tired and confused. You need to rest, son. Head to the barracks. That's an order." Balgruuf earned new respect from Tacitus for that. He could tell he knew how to talk to his men and make them feel like he was one of them, while still retaining the respect and dignity required of a commander.

"Yes…my lord."

"Irileth," he said to the she-elf. "Gather some guardsmen and get down there."

"I've already ordered twenty men to muster at the gate," she responded.

"Good. Don't fail me." He turned to Tacitus. "There's no time to stand on ceremony my friend. I need your help again." He sounded only half apologetic. "I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon." He noticed the elf stiffen at that. _I want_, he thought. _The two favorite words of nobles and women_. "You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here," Balgruuf said. That wasn't much. He, like everyone else, spent more time trying to survive than consciously observe how the beast worked. He just bowed his head though. "But I haven't forgotten the service you did for Farengar. As a token of my esteem, I have instructed Avenicci that you are permitted to purchase property within the city, and upon your return I will see to it that you are paid for that and this dragon business."

"Grazie," he replied.

"I should come along," the wizard cut in. "I would very much like to see this dragon."

"No," Balgruuf said. "I can't afford that risk. I need you here, working on ways to defend the city."

"As you command." It sounded difficult for him to say.

"One last thing Irileth. This isn't a 'death or glory' mission. We need to know what we're dealing with."

"Don't worry, my lord. I am the very soul of caution."

With that, she turned and made for the gates of the city. Tacitus waited before following.

"Jarl Balgruuf. A word, please."

"Yes?"

"A legionnaire at Helgen fought with me against a group of rebels. He killed some, but was wounded himself. He said he was from Whiterun, and I promised I would deliver this to his family," he said, pulling out the purse and letter. "His wife, Joldi. And a sister. I don't plan on dying, but if I'm wrong…Would you hold on to this?"

"Of course, my friend. What was the man's name?" he asked taking the items.

"Olaf."

"If you don't return, I'll see it taken care of. You have my word," Balgruuf swore.

"Molte grazie." He turned and went to face the dragon; uncertain for the first time in many years if he would return.

* * *

III

* * *

He arrived at the gate as Irileth finished giving a speech to the men she'd called for. They were all cheering as Tacitus approached. He noted that many, including Irileth, were armed with bows in addition to the gladii strapped to their waists. Irileth called for the men to move out, and they exited the city, heading for the tower.

* * *

III

* * *

"There's no sign of any dragon now, but it sure looks like he's been here," Irileth said. The small detachment was in cover behind a rock pile, looking at the burning ruins of what was once the watchtower. A few bodies were scattered about the crumbling ruins; some burned and blackened, others with huge red gashes that were visible even from fifty metres away.

Irileth turned back towards the men. "I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere. Spread out and look for survivors. We need to know what we're dealing with." She drew her sword and started for the tower, the rest of them following her example.

It was nearly midnight, but the moons shined brightly, and the dragon's fire still burned in the tall grasses of the plains. Plumes of thick black smoke rose from the ruins, choking many of the men as they approached. Tacitus went straight for the tower, knowing that the men outside were dead and any survivors would've sought cover.

He entered the tower and saw a guard slumped against the wall, a traumatized expression on his face. "Where is the dragon?" he asked the guard, expecting stuttered rambling for an answer.

"It flew off a few minutes ago. Towards the south." Tacitus walked back outside to deliver the news. "No! Get back, it's still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!" The man followed him outside; whirling around to make sure the dragon wasn't waiting for them. He suddenly cried out, "Kynareth save us, here he comes again!"

Tacitus whirled to the south, his sword flying from the sheath quick as a whip. He could see the dark shape by the moonlight and readied his weapon. He didn't think it was the same one that attacked Helgen. This one was smaller and its scales looked different; less spiked and not as though it was carved from stone. It was still a big bastard though, and Tacitus wasn't sure how they were going to defeat it. If they could get it to the ground, he could more easily find a weakness.

"Shoot the wings!" he commanded the archers. They loosed a volley as the dragon approached, but it just veered to the side, any arrows making contact bouncing off its scales. The men ducked behind the ruins as the dragon loosed a jet of flames and flew over. Fortunately, they had all managed to take cover in time, but Tacitus knew that not everyone, if anyone, would survive. He commanded them to spread out and find cover, and take individual shots whenever they could. For ten minutes it went like that, though it felt like ten hours. The dragon would try and roast them and they would wait for the chance to shoot its wings and try to ground him. Occasionally it would descend low enough to grab a man or two in its talons, then fly up and drop them, their screams echoing across the plains until they were cut off suddenly. But each time it came down, the archers managed to find their target and lodge a few arrows in its wings, and each time he could see it was getting harder for the beast rise again. Tacitus shouted for a spear or javelin. One of the guards tossed him a javelin; not quite as effective, but it would do. He ran out from cover, attempting to draw the beast down.

"Ehi! Come on you big bitch! Vieni a prendermi!" The dragon angled towards him and unleashed a torrent of flame. He ducked behind his shield, the large piece of wood and metal just large to protect him from being roasted, though he could still feel the extreme heat.

"Vieni tu verme senza palle!" The dragon swung about, back towards him. "Keep firing!" he shouted at the guards. The giant lizard loosed a fireball at the guards, causing them to scatter to avoid being hit. A few weren't quick enough and their screams of agony could probably be heard by the men on the walls, who he was sure were watching. The beast dived down to grab Tacitus and he seized his opportunity, throwing the javelin at the dragon's left wing in an attempt to bring it down. He did better, however, and the missile tore through the arm and lodged there, causing it drop instantly, roaring in pain. Tacitus dived out of the way to avoid being crushed, and as it slowed down, he ran up to it, throwing his shield when it turned its head to attack him. The scutum shattered, but stunned the beast long enough for him to get on its head. The dragon growled and swung around trying to fling him, but he grabbed the horns and held on.

"Hold your fire!" he yelled at the remaining men when he saw them drawing their bows. He didn't want to be hit by a stray arrow. The elf apparently thought she was funny though, because she used her magic to send a bolt of lightning at the dragon. It wasn't very powerful, only giving the lizard a headache at best, but it caused Tacitus's muscles to seize up briefly. _Ho intenzione di uccidere quella cagna_, he thought. He wasn't sure, but he thought he could see a smug smile on her face.

He tried to plunge his sword into its skull, but the scales were too hard. He looked at the spot where its spine met its skull; it had to be vulnerable, otherwise it wouldn't be able to move its head. Yes, there may be just enough of a gap for him to get his sword in there. He placed his gladius between the scales and fell forward, his weight driving the blade through. The dragon made no sound as it thudded to the ground. He leaped off the head, gesturing for a sword and holding it at the ready, in case the beast wasn't dead.

Suddenly the body began to glow. It looked as though fire was eating away at the flesh, leaving only bones behind. Then a swirl of red and blue light surrounded Tacitus. It coursed through him, sending him to his knees in pain. It was similar to what had happened in Bleak Falls Barrow, but much more painful, as though something was trying to tear his body apart from the inside. But then the pain receded and the only thing he felt was…power. Raw power. He felt good- felt…energized. He stood, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. Those words he'd heard were swimming around in his head. _Fus, Yol Toor Shul, Aav Dilon, _every word he now understood.

One of the soldiers ran up to him, awe in his voice as he spoke. "I can't believe it! You're…_Dragonborn_!"

"Cosa- uh…What?"

"Dragonborn. In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power," he explained. "That's what you did, _isn't it_? Absorbed the dragon's power."

"I don't know what that was."

Another soldier spoke up. "According to the ancient tales, only a Dragonborn could Shout without training, just like the dragons. Go on. Try to Shout."

The rest of the surviving men walked over to marvel at what they had just witnessed, a couple lighting torches.

"Dragonborn? What are you talking about?" one said, disbelieving.

"That's right," another said. "My grandfather used to tell stories 'bout the Dragonborn. Those born with the dragon blood in 'em. Like ol' Tiber Septim himself."

"I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons," the skeptical man retorted.

"There weren't any then, idiot," the first man said. "They're just coming back now for the first time in…forever. But the old stories tell of the Dragonborn who could kill dragons and steal their power. You must be one!"

"What do you say, Irileth? You're being awfully quiet," the skeptic said.

"Tell us, d'you believe in this Dragonborn business?" the other said.

Her tone was icy when she replied to the men. "Some of you would be better off keeping your mouths shut than flapping your gobs on matters you know nothing about." She pointed to the massive skeleton. "Here's a dead dragon, and that's something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them, and _how_."

"Prego."

"But I don't need some mythical 'Dragonborn'. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me," she said, ignoring Tacitus.

"You wouldn't understand, Housecarl. You ain't a Nord."

The she-elf looked offended. Her words were venom when she next spoke, saying, "I've been all across Tamriel. I've seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this. I'd advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends."

But the man wasn't willing to let it go. "Maybe. But if you really are Dragonborn, you ought to be able to Shout. Can you do it? Can you Shout like the dragons?"

Tacitus thought for a moment. _Fus_. Dragon for 'force'. He wondered…"_Fus_!" he shouted, and the air appeared to rush towards Irileth, knocking the elf over. The soldiers all started laughing.

"That was Shouting; what you just did! Must be. You really are Dragonborn, then…"

The elf stood, drawing her sword. "You impudent little-"

"Easy, Housecarl," one man laughed. "I'm sure he didn't intend to hurt you. No harm done."

The elf glared at Tacitus, who just glared right back, daring her to retaliate. She appeared to think better of it and grudgingly sheathed her sword. "We should return to the city. The Jarl needs to know what has happened."

* * *

III

* * *

Jarl Balgruuf the Greater looked up from where he sat in his throne. The doors to the Great Hall opened and his Housecarl entered the palace. She walked up and knelt, then rose at Balgruuf's command.

"Irileth. I see you've returned. I trust that means the dragon's been dealt with."

"Yes, my Jarl."

"Where is Tacitus? Did he not survive?" Balgruuf asked, concern evident in his voice.

Her visage darkened and the loathing she felt for the man was easily recognizable in her voice. "He is fine. He himself killed the dragon, as a matter of fact. He brought the men to one of the local brothels," she said distastefully. "He said something about 'a man needing a woman after a battle'. Paid for them to 'drink and fuck' to their hearts' content, pardon my foul language, my lord. They were _his _words, not mine."

The Jarl laughed. "Well, he's certainly right about that. He must be very popular among the men now. Send a guard to fetch him, and go bring Lydia here. No, send the guard to get Lydia, _you_ bring him back," the Jarl said, thinking better of sending a man to a brothel. The Cyrodilic would probably buy a whore for him too. And that was if he wasn't distracted by them first.

"My lord?" Irileth said, not quite certain she understood.

"That man killed a dragon and saved this city. I will have him properly rewarded."

"Yes, my Jarl."

* * *

III

* * *

Irileth entered "The Lover's Comfort", the most prestigious of Whiterun's bordellos. She didn't want to be there any longer than necessary; the whole place smelled of sweat, sex, alcohol, and lit pipe leaf. Fortunately, the man she was looking for wasn't hard to find. He was seated in the middle of the main room, surrounded by drunken guardsmen and whores, one of whom was bouncing up and down on his cock. For a slim girl, she had a rather large pair of breasts. His armor was on a chair next to him, and his red tunic was bunched up around his waist. It looked like he had slit the front with a knife to allow the whore to run her hands along his chest as he drank from a bottle of what looked like Colovian Brandy. The soldiers and even many of the whores were singing and laughing, but to her his face appeared as cold and emotionless as ever.

Irileth walked up to him. "The Jarl requests your presence."

He didn't even look at her. "He can wait another ten minutes," he said disinterestedly from between the woman's breasts.

The elf looked offended. "The Jarl does not wait for mercenary whoremongers," she spat.

"Well that's a relief. I'm not a mercenary."

The elf was just barely containing her rage, and he could see it when he looked at her. "You. Get off. _Now_," she said to the woman.

"Yes, m'lady. Apologies, m'lady," the young woman awkwardly replied before running off.

"You owe me thirty septims, elf."

"You paid thirty septims for her?" she asked incredulously.

"I paid sixty for her, but I only used half my time."

"Well you can beg for it from the Jarl. Let's go." She grabbed his arm and pulled him up. "And put that away."

Before he was out the door, Tacitus tossed a purse to the owner behind the bar. "Have another round on me, boys!" he shouted, to which the men all laughed and cheered. Tacitus strapped his armor on as they walked towards Dragonsreach.

"How much did you drink?"

"Two bottles of Colovian Brandy."

"What? How are you walking?"

He appeared his normal self. No slurring or lack of balance, and he was still acting like a bastard. "I've been drinking longer than most of those men have been living. I've had plenty of practice."

Irileth muttered something under her breath and sighed. "You're in no state to be brought before the Jarl. I can't believe he wants me to bring you to him."

* * *

III

* * *

Lydia looked up as she heard a knock on her door. "Who is it?" she called out.

"Haknir."

"Just a minute." She threw on a shirt, covering her naked torso and part of her lower body. "Come in."

She smiled as the guard entered. Haknir was one of her oldest friends. The man smiled back but did not sit. "The Jarl has sent for you. He is in the Great Hall."

Her brows furrowed. What could the Jarl want from _her_? Especially at this hour. "Did he say why?"

Haknir shrugged his shoulders. "No. But I think it might have something to do with that Imperial who showed up a few hours ago. What are you doing up anyway?"

"I had a dream and woke up. I wrote it in my journal before you came in."

He grinned. "Oh yeah? What about?"

"Not you," she smiled.

Haknir sighed, feigning disappointment. "Oh well. You should get dressed and hurry to the Jarl. He's in good humor now, but I wouldn't test it." The Nord man left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Lydia took a moment to finish writing, then stood and dressed in something more appropriate to appear before the Jarl. She spent a few seconds fixing her hair and was finally ready. She walked out of the room she'd lived in since she was a young girl and through the living quarters of Dragonsreach. Walking downstairs and around to stand in front of Balgruuf the Greater, she knelt.

"Lydia," he said.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Where's your armor?" he asked

"I…uh…I didn't know I needed my armor, my lord."

"By the gods, get up, girl. We're not holding court at the moment. No need to be so formal." She wasn't so sure about that, since both Proventus Avenicci and Hrongar, the Jarl's brother, were here. It appeared very much like a court session.

"Yes, my lord," she said, rising.

"We're going to have a new Thane soon, so you need your armor. Go dress. Quickly." The doors to the palace opened and Balgruuf stopped her. "Never mind. Just come over here." She stood next to Balgruuf as Irileth walked up to the throne with a large man in Legion armor. He had very short black hair and a stubbly beard, with brown eyes so dark they looked black. His tan skin was marred with scars; two on his face and some on his arms, which were thick, corded muscle. He wasn't very tall when compared to a Nord, but his muscles were large and lean. Not overly bulky, but still a large man. She noted with curiosity that he was strangely unarmed, but she knew from looking at him that he didn't need any weapon other than his own body to kill.

Irileth knelt before taking her place beside the Jarl, leaving the man to stand alone. It was silent for a while, then the man spoke up.

"Your elf owes me thirty septims," he said in a deep voice with a heavy Cyrodilic accent. There was stunned silence for a few moments. Then Balgruuf laughed. He smiled and said,

"And why is that, my friend?"

"She interrupted me while I was taking care of some business."

"That was no business you were taking care of," the Housecarl cut in.

"I'm sure the girl, and most of the other men in there, would disagree." Lydia realised he'd been at a brothel.

"Hmph," the elf grumbled.

"Well, Irileth," Balgruuf laughed. "I think you can afford thirty measly septims."

Lydia could see a look of pure hatred on the Dunmer's face. "Yes, my Jarl. I'll see to it at once," she said, and walked away, presumably to get money to pay the man.

Balgruuf sighed. "Perhaps you could avoid provoking her for a while, Tacitus."

"It was only fair."

"Which is why I allowed you to get away with it. And because you paid for the lads who came back alive. Perhaps you could tell us about how that went, now that you are here."

"The dragon attacked, I killed it, and _you_ mentioned a reward should I survive."

"That I did. You'll get your reward, there's no question about that. It was a mighty deed. You've earned a place of honour among the heroes of Whiterun." Balgruuf wasn't going to leave it at that however. "There must be more to it than that, however," he continued. "Did something…strange…happen when the dragon died?"

"Sὶ. A sort of…power flowed from the carcass and into me. Your men mentioned something from an old legend."

Balgruuf sat up, genuinely interested in where the conversation was going. Lydia was too, even if she had little idea of what was going on. "So it's true. The Greybeards really were summoning you."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Greybeards?"

"Masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion on the slopes of the Throat of the World."

"What do they want with me?"

"The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice- the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or Shout. If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift."

Lydia's eyes widened. This man was the Dragonborn? He had the power to destroy this palace with a single word, and he was standing _here_, not three metres away, talking about dragon slaying and whoring with Jarl Balgruuf.

Hrongar, a big brute of a Nord, spoke up. "Didn't you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun? That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar!" the man said excitedly. "This hasn't happened in- centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora!"

"Hrongar, calm yourself. The more important thing is what these Greybeards want with him," Avenicci cut in.

"That's the Greybeards business, not ours," the Jarl said. "Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards sensed it. If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue? But enough of this. You're a man of few words, and I'm sure you want to get going, so we'll get to it," Balgruuf said.

"You've done a great service for me and my city, Tacitus. We'll forgo the ceremony and just reward you here and now. By my right as Jarl of Whiterun, I name you a Thane of Whiterun Hold. It's the greatest honour within my power to grant." He gestured to Lydia, standing to his left beside Irileth. "I assign you Lydia as a personal Housecarl. The guardsmen of the Hold will be notified of who you are as well. We are honoured to have you as a Thane of our city, Dragonborn," he said, rising and putting his hands on Tacitus's shoulders. "Besides the title and all its privileges, I also had this made for you." He signaled to his servants, and they brought over a set of Lorica Segmentata (helmet and shield included), a brand new gladius, and a pugio. "This was all made by the smiths of the Grey-Mane family at the Skyforge. It is all made from Skyforge steel, making it lighter, stronger, and sharper. Something about the forge makes the arms and armors it produces far better than normal steel."

"Molte grazie per questo grande dono, amico mio. This is much appreciated."

"Of course. And here, you can take care of this before you leave," Balgruuf said, handing Tacitus a purse and piece of parchment. Balgruuf motioned for Lydia to go stand beside him. "She'll need to get her things and then you can leave. She's a fine young woman and will make an excellent Housecarl." Lydia blushed slightly at the Jarl's praise.

"Grazie," the man said. He turned to Lydia. "Get your things and meet me back here."

"Yes, Thane," she responded, still slightly in awe that after all these years, she finally had a Thane of her own. Lydia hurried up the stairs and to her quarters. She quickly strapped on her armor and sword, and grabbed all the money she had. Her other possessions, mostly books and some clothes, she left; if she needed them, she could come back. She grabbed her shield and turned around to leave, coming face to face with Irileth.

"Irileth," she said in surprise. "Is there something can do for you?"

"In a way, yes. I want you to take my advice. Be careful around this man. He's dangerous and he attracts all sorts of trouble. Or seeks it out. But he cares only for himself. Just don't trust him, and take care you don't do something you'll regret." She left the room after that, leaving the young woman to ponder her words.

But not for long. She didn't think her new Thane would appreciate her wasting his time. She grabbed her things and quickly made her way to the Great Hall.

She returned just as the Jarl finished telling him about the time he climbed the steps to High Hrothgar. He looked over as she entered. "Ah. Your Housecarl has returned. You'd best be moving then, my friend," Balgruuf said. Lydia looked downward shyly, then almost immediately lifted her head back up, thinking that her new Thane wouldn't think very highly of her for hanging her head like that. She then wondered why his opinion mattered to her. They didn't know each other. Hell, she'd barely spent ten minutes in his presence. He probably already thought little of her; it seemed to be how he viewed everyone. She'd show him- show him just what she could do. She would prove to him that she was the best Housecarl he could've received.

With this purpose in mind, she strode up to him confidently, head held high. It was unfortunate that she had to look up slightly, but she said, "Are we ready, my Thane?" in a clear and determined voice.

He nodded once and said, "Come," then turned and made for the door.

Lydia followed closely, walking out into the crisp Skyrim air and an uncertain future. Only two things were certain: the possibility of death, and that if she _did_ die, it would be saving his life and proving to him that she was the best there is.

**I would like to thank all who favorite and followed the story since my last update. You give me the motivation to continue. Which means that you should continue doing so. And review people. REVIEW! Reviews are the lifeblood of fanfiction stories. So give this one the blood donation it needs. **

**Grazie.**


	4. IV: The Right Thing

**My thanks to those who reviewed, favorited, followed, and such. You inspire me to keep going. Apologies for the wait, but hopefully I will be updating more regularly from now on. Enjoy. And as always: REVIEW.**

IV

The Right Thing

Before anything else, Tacitus needed to keep his promise to Olaf. He asked his Housecarl if she knew where he lived and she led him to the small, two-level house where Olaf once lived.

Tacitus knocked on the wooden door and waited to be received. After a few moments the door opened to show a young boy of about five or six years. The boy's eyes widened and he exclaimed, "Wow! A soldier! Have you killed lotsa Stormcloaks? And do you know my pa? He's a soldier too!"

"I've killed a few. And yes, I met your father," he said, assuming this to be Olaf's boy. "Is your mother home? I have something important for her."

The boy nodded enthusiastically and turned. "Mama! There's a soldier here! He knows pa!"

A minute went by, then a pretty young woman appeared behind the boy, a babe nursing at her breast. "Hello, sir. Is there something I could help with?"

"Your husband's name is Olaf?"

"Yes. Why?" she asked, her voice a little hesitant.

"Where does his sister live?"

The woman's eyebrows scrunched together. "She lives here with us," she said. "Is there something I can help you with, or do you-"

"I have something for you from your husband," he said, wondering if she would ever invite him inside. He preferred to tell her in a place of some privacy. "For his sister as well."

The confused look remained, but she stepped aside. "Please, come sit." She led the way through the modestly decorated house to a table in the room adjoining the kitchen. The woman gestured for Tacitus and Lydia to sit and called for Olaf's sister. "Frida! Come here, girl!"

Almost immediately, a beautiful young blonde stepped in the doorway. She was no more than sixteen, but she looked like she was ready to give birth any day now. Tacitus wondered who the father was. And where he was. "What is it?" she quietly asked. Her voice was hoarse and she sounded fragile. "Who are these people?"

"This is-" she stopped short. They hadn't introduced themselves.

"Tacitus. I met your brother," he said, trying to sound less gruff for their sake. He didn't want to make this any harder for them.

"Olaf?" the blonde, Frida, said. "Is he going to visit? Are you here to bring a message?" She seemed more enthusiastic at the thought that he was here with news from her brother.

He decided to just get it out. "You've heard of the attack on Helgen?" he asked. They both nodded. He could see on Joldi's face that she was beginning to realise why he was here. "We made it past the dragon, but were attacked by rebels. He slew his opponent, but was wounded. He died with honor, like a warrior, and is no doubt feasting in the afterlife." He took the letter and handed it to her. The woman gave her child to the girl and snatched the letter from him, opening it and reading, not even bothering to cover her exposed breast.

She was clearly devastated. The sister was silently crying, but Joldi was emotionless. He knew that later she would weep and mourn, but first she had to get over the shock. Tacitus didn't say anything, only bowed his head and made to leave. Before he did, however, he wanted to know who Frida's lover was, in case he was one of the men who accompanied him to the tower.

"My lady. Who is the child's father?"

The question brought a fresh wave of tears. Obviously this was a touchy subject. The older woman, took the girl's hand, patting it, though her expression didn't change. "I...I- I don't know," she sobbed. Rape. Something far too common these days. Though he would've like to help, he had more pressing matters to attend to. He looked at Lydia and nodded toward the door. She stood but didn't move.

"My Thane." He turned. "My Thane, as part of your new position, I think perhaps you should deal with this problem," she said, obviously wanting to help the girl in any way she could. "As Thane, dealing with problems in the Hold comes with the title. Perhaps this would be a good opportunity to-"

"I see what you are getting at, and I would like to help, but I have other matters to attend to."

"My Thane-"

"It sounds to me like you are being insubordinate. Are these the kind of soldiers Balgruuf trains?" He could see the barely contained anger in her eyes, pleased at her reaction.

"No...my Thane. Jarl Balgruuf trains only the best," she said, staring directly ahead.

He almost laughed at her naivety. "Well then, prove it to me. I'll humour you this time." He looked at the girl. "Frida, look at me. Do you remember anything about the man? Hair color, hair style, scars, tattoos, anything?"

He could see the effort she was putting into trying to remember. "I...He- he had a scar...on his face. And he had a tattoo. He had a snake tattoo on his arm."

"Where can I find him?"

"I don't know. I think he's with one of the bandit gangs, but... I was on my way back from Morthal when it happened, so... I would guess that's where they live."

"I'll take care of it." He looked at Lydia once more and nodded towards the exit, leading the way out.

* * *

IV

* * *

"Where can I sell some things?" he asked once they were back outside. He had plenty of gems from his trip to Bleak Falls Barrow, and he was going to need the money.

"The shops are all located in the Plains District, the bottom level of the city. What is it you wish to sell, my Thane?"

"Some gems," he said, leading the way to the lower levels, "and a few amulets."

"You'll want to see Belethor, then. He owns a general goods store. His gives the best deal out of all those in the city."

They sold the items at Belethor's shop, making a fair amount of coin. Then they went to the guard barracks. Lydia had explained that they had maps that detailed possible locations of different bandit outposts in the Hold and surrounding area. It took a few threats and a small amount of coin, but Tacitus managed to obtain a map from the commander of the guard. He unrolled the map on a table and motioned Lydia over.

"What do you think? This main road leads through Labyrinthian from Morthal and adjoins the road to the west. There are three possibilities: Dustman's Cairn, Silent Moons Camp, or Redoran's Retreat," he said, pointing to each in turn.

Lydia shook her head though. "No travelers go through Labyrinthian. That place is said to be cursed, and even without that, it's still dangerous. Most people go around it on this road here," she stated, putting her finger on another road that went east to join up with the road guarded by the Whitewatch Tower. "It's about four days longer than going through Labyrinthian, but generally much safer."

"Then this camp here is the most likely," he said, tapping on the area slightly northwest of the Whitewatch Tower. "That is where we will start." He folded up the map and placed it in his pouch.

They stopped at the stables to purchase horses and were quickly on their way up the road to the tower. As they rode along along, Tacitus questioned his Housecarl about her equipment. If she was going to serve him for the duration of his time in Skyrim, she might as well be properly equipped.

"The Jarl has seen to it that my arms and armor are more than adequate, my Thane. It's not Skyforge steel, but it is of fine quality," she answered. As his Housecarl, she was to speak only when spoken to. Though many Housecarls and their lords were on friendly terms and rarely observed such formalities for long, her Thane didn't seem the type of man who wanted to engage in polite conversation. In fact, he came off as the sort of man who was more used to barking orders to soldiers on a battlefield than politely conversing with people of higher status.

She wanted to ask about him, but she didn't think he would appreciate it much. And besides that, there was Irileth's warning to her about the grizzled legionnaire that made her hesitate. It almost made her wish that she was still just a trainee. But the thrill of finally being able to go out and explore was too great. After all, if she was the Housecarl of the Dragonborn, and he was already being summoned to High Hrothgar, there was no telling what kind of adventures she was no doubt going to partake in.

And so most of the trip was spent in silence, with Lydia thinking about her new life as Housecarl of the Dragonborn of legend. After about twenty minutes they passed the Whitewatch Tower. They stopped for a few moments to try and discern where the camp might lay. After a few minutes of staring at the landscape, and finally conversing with a few of the guards, they managed to agree upon a tentative location and were on their way once more. They decided to head up the road for a few miles, then turn west and search the plains for the encampment.

They made it about two miles before they were set upon by bandits. Obviously these were the men they were searching for. It was a good plan when one thought about it. The guards at the tower would be too far away to help as they only had a single horse, since their main purpose was to warn of attackers heading for the city. There was enough cover nearby for them to hide and await targets. And there were only two in this particular instance.

But the two people they were, put a serious damper on the likelihood of success.

Five brigands attacked the two unsuspecting travelers; three mounted, two bowmen on either side of the road. Tacitus shouted at his Housecarl, who carried a recurve bow, to take care of the archers, while he engaged the three mounted men. Screaming, they spurred their horses towards the two travelers. Tacitus took two arrows on his shield, allowing Lydia to ready her bow as the archers reloaded. He was faced with two longswords and an axman wielding a small hatchet. None of them were particularly impressive, with rusted weapons and "armor" made mostly from hide and leather. However, given that their swords had a longer reach than his own, which wasn't meant for mounted combat, he was at a slight disadvantage. He took a strike on his shield, parried another with his sword, and as the third man approached, slammed the rim of his shield into his face, knocking him off the horse. He blocked one blow then another, chopping off the axman's hand. He traded a few blows with the last one, but far outmatched the fool. He blocked a blow with his sword and slammed his shield into his elbow, breaking it, then before the man could scream he slashed him across the throat, watching the body topple from the horse and thrash on the ground. He turned to finish the axman in time to see his Housecarl thrust her sword into his heart.

"The other one got away," she said. "He grabbed one of the horses and rode that way."

"Why didn't you follow?" he yelled at her. Without waiting for a response he spurred his horse in pursuit, leaving her to mount her own horse to follow.

He gained ground quickly. The general flatness of the plains made it easy to see over long distances, and after a few minutes Tacitus could see the small camp just a few miles away. A log palisade surrounded the camp, with a lookout tower to the east and west, and a large wall-less hut in the middle. There were a few men patrolling along the wooden walkways, and he could see them moving toward the east end to welcome him.

Tacitus turned to the woman behind him. "Can you shoot while riding?" he yelled back.

She nodded. "Well enough."

"Kill as many as you can."

Once they were close enough, she began firing at the bandits, while Tacitus kept his shield at the ready. She managed to hit one on the approach, but he didn't know if it was a kill or not, and he thought it was more luck than anything else. He took his feet out of the stirrups and threw his right leg over the horse so that he was sitting sideways, and when the horse rode through the gate he slid off. He rolled and hopped up, rushing toward the stairs. He blocked a blow from above and cut the attackers leg off at the knee. He pushed the man down to stall the others and turned to face the one who had jumped to the ground to flank him. They fought briefly before Tacitus sidestepped an attack and plunged his blade through the back of the man's neck.

By that time his Housecarl had arrived inside and was firing arrows at the remaining men. One of them tried to jump from the palisade onto her, but Tacitus slammed his shield into his legs, causing him to trip and dash his face against the ground. He finished the bandit by stabbing him through the heart.

* * *

Now it was time to find the man who had raped the girl. They inspected the bodies in an effort to find him, but they all had a snake tattoo, and none had any unique facial scars. A moan issued from their right and Tacitus looked over to see that the man who's leg he'd cut off was still alive. Drawing his sword, he walked over to the man and grabbed his face with his free hand. A large scar ran down his face, rendering one eye useless and leaving an ugly red mark on the side of his face. He picked the rapist up and threw him to the ground.

"Bring those swords over here," he called out to his Housecarl. She quickly did as she was told and dropped the weapons to the ground next to her Thane. Tacitus sheathed his blade and picked up one of the rusted pieces of iron. "Hold his arm down," he instructed her. She hesitated a moment, but reluctantly did as she was bid, holding the man's right arm flat against the ground. Tacitus knelt on the man's chest and forced his hand open, placing the tip of the blade against his palm.

"Wha- please...no," the man pleaded, but the soldier ignored the man. Before anyone could react, Tacitus forced the blade through his hand and into the ground, pinning it. The scream that emanated from the man was unlike anything the girl had ever seen. He could see it written in her expression.

"His other arm. _Now_," he emphasized to make sure she understood not to disobey. She hastened to oblige her Thane, forcing the other arm against the ground. Tacitus repeated the action, holding the bandit down as he thrashed on the ground. "His leg." Again the two of them repeated their actions, the man's amputated leg kicking against the ground.

"Why?" he sobbed out, between screams. "Please! No more! Tell me why!"

Tacitus pulled out his pugio from the sheath on the back of his belt. Cutting through the man's lower coverings, he said, "For the sixteen year old blonde girl you raped nine months ago." With that, he sliced off the man's cock and speared it with the blade. "Now you will know how it feels," he said, giving it to the wide eyed girl next to him. "Find a stick, or something similar that will keep this thing hard, and shove it inside." He could see that she was apprehensive about taking part in such brutality, but his expression made it clear that she had no choice.

As she went to do that, Tacitus took the cloth that he'd cut off and used it to staunch the flow of blood in the eunuch's leg. He didn't want him to die or pass out from blood loss before he felt what Frida had felt. The girl returned a few moments later with the rapist's cock shoved onto a small piece of broken mammoth tusk. Tacitus took the cock and placed it against the bandit's arsehole. "Please," he muttered. "No more. Please," he pleaded.

"Is that what she said to you?" He shoved the eunuch's own cock as deep up his arse as he could. Ignoring the screams, Tacitus looked at his shocked Housecarl. "Does this bother you?" he asked her, taking his pugio from her. She was too stunned to respond immediately.

"...My Thane. I... I haven't seen such a thing before. That was...brutal. Was it really-"

"Necessary? Yes, it was. That son of a whore raped a fifteen year old girl. I wanted him to feel what she felt. You heard his final words. And you heard mine. He received the punishment he deserved."

"I just... never saw such a thing."

"You wanted me to deal with this problem. I did. Let's go." He mounted his horse and set off back to Whiterun.

Lydia remained behind, staring at the sobbing...man, laying in the dirt. The things she had just witnessed were unlike anything she could even imagine. And the way he appeared so calm while doing it... perhaps Irileth was right. This man was dangerous, and she needed to be careful around him. Her Thane didn't speak much, but his actions said more than any sentence could.

She looked back at the pitiful form on the ground. He wouldn't like it, but she couldn't just leave the man the way he was. She drew her sword and drove it through his heart, then took all the swords from his limbs. What her Thane didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

* * *

IV

* * *

She caught up with him a few miles from the city. She wondered if he was going to mention what he'd done to the girl. She doubted that Frida would want to hear such a thing. "My Thane-"

"You should not have done that."

Oh no. "Done what?"

"I know you ended his misery. You should have let him suffer."

"I couldn't stand to see such a thing. It was brutal- barbaric, even."

"What he did to that girl was barbaric. What he likely did to other girls was barbaric. People such as that do not deserve mercy, Housecarl. Only retribution."

"Are sadists those kind of people?" she said defiantly.

Tacitus didn't rise to the bait. "I admit I took pleasure in that. But will you deny that those men were evil? Will you defend them?"

"It isn't about that! What you did was disgusting," she yelled.

"Disgusting?" he asked. "Do you want to hear about some truly disgusting things?"

"I-"

"Thirty years ago, an ambassador from the Aldmeri Dominion arrived in the Imperial City, his soldiers bringing a cart filled with a gift for the new Emperor. The elf demanded that the Empire pay tribute to the Thalmor, execute all members of the Blades, outlaw the worship of Tiber Septim and Reman as men ascended to gods, and relinquish control of Hammerfell. When the Emperor refused, the elf up-ended the cart and spilled the heads of every Blade stationed in Summerset Isle. More than one hundred heads. The Blades were butchered in their sleep, their bodies put on display in Alinor. Do you know what happened next?"

"The Great War," she answered hesitantly.

"Sì. One atrocity after the next. Why? Because we're human. Those bastards want to eradicate us from Mundus. Every man, every woman, and every child. Genocide on a scale never before seen. Now tell me if what I did is still the worst thing you've ever heard of."

She didn't have an answer to that. It was the most she'd ever heard him say, and every bit was undeniable in its truth. When one considered what he had just told her, his actions seemed completely justified, and in a way that made it seem like they didn't even need to be justified because it was simply the right thing to do.

They spent the rest of the ride in silence, Lydia pondering her Thane's words.

* * *

IV

* * *

"May I come in? I have to talk with Frida."

"Alright. Momma! The soldier is back! He wants to talk with Frida!" the boy exclaimed to the household, leading the way inside.

They went and stood in the other room while they waited for the girl. She came in a few moments later and sat down, waiting for him to say something.

"He has been dealt with." He could see the tears in her eyes as she stood up.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you so much!" She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. He didn't return the hug, but he did put an arm around her waist and allow her to embrace him for as long as she wished. After a minute or so she pulled away and smiled at him. "Thank you so much," she repeated. "How can I repay you?"

He pressed a small purse into her hand and said, "By accepting this, signora. And by continuing to be a beautiful young woman. Find a man who will take care of you, and put the memory behind you." He let her hug him once more, then said goodbye.

* * *

IV

* * *

"That was very kind of you."

"It was the right thing to do," he responded. As usual, his face remained emotionless, but she could tell that he was pleased with how things turned out. "These Greybeards of yours are likely awaiting my arrival. Do we have permission to go or would you prefer to retire for the evening and leave in the morning?"

She knew what he was implying, but refused to allow him to get to her. "That is your decision, my Thane."

"Remember those words. Come. We ride until nightfall."

And ride they did, making their way east around the mountain to the small town where the steps lead to the monastery. Tacitus was eager to get this visit to the mountain hermits over with so that he could return home where he belonged. He'd been in Skyrim for barely two weeks and he was already sick of it. As they rode, his thoughts turned to home, during times long since passed. Times when he was a different man.

He was awoken from his reverie by his Housecarl. "My Thane, it is almost dark and this appears an adequate place to camp for the night. Should we stop?"

He nodded. "Va bene. I'll pitch camp. You take that bow and find me dinner."

"Yes, my Thane." She grabbed her bow and quiver and went off in search of game.

Tacitus tied the horses to a nearby tree then set about making camp and starting a fire. Once he was finished, he sat on a log and sharpened his blades while he waited for his Housecarl to return. She returned after only twenty minutes, requesting his help to drag the deer back to the camp. He removed his armor and followed her to the carcass, which she had already field dressed. He hefted it up onto his shoulders and carried it back, butchering it and roasting some over the fire.

As they waited for the meat to cook, Lydia asked something that she'd been pondering for some time. "My Thane?"

"Sì?"

"My Thane, when you spoke of the Thalmor, and what happened to start the war, you spoke as though you were there." But that couldn't be possible.

"No, I was not there. I didn't hear of what happened until we made it back to the Imperial city."

"What do you mean? You didn't fight in the war did you?" she asked. He seemed far too young to have fought. He looked as though he was born only a few years before it began. So why did he talk like that?

For a moment he didn't respond. Just sat there, deep in thought. Then,

"Let me tell you a story."


	5. V: Who I Am

**Over 100 views in one day after that last update, yet so little feedback. Makes me wonder if I should even bother. It doesn't have to be a review saying how incredible the story is. If you find something wrong with it, help me out then.**

V

Who I Am

"Fifty years ago, a boy was born in the city of Kvatch," he said. The firelight cast an eerie glow upon his rugged features. Clouds obscured the moons and stars, and the forest at the base of the mountain was curiously silent. Lydia was leaning forward, listening intently to his words.

"His father was a soldier, rugged and handsome and strong. His mother was a beautiful young woman; kind and gentle. When his father was around, he taught his son how to fight, and how to live as a man with honor. When he was not, the boy would run off with the seamen, learning to sail. When he was old enough, the boy followed in his father's footsteps and joined the Emperor's legions. The boy became a man, and after a few short years, a centurion in charge of his own century of trained legionnaires. The Emperor charged him with training those men into a special force of soldiers who could fight on any terrain at a moments notice, and to fight as effectively alone as a group. He had two years to train the men before they were deployed to Hammerfell to deal with the infighting. Not long after...war broke out between the Empire and the elves."

Tacitus paused a moment allowing her to absorb the information she'd just heard and to give her a moment to ask any questions she might have. She didn't respond, however, preferring to listen without interrupting for fear that he would change his mind, or that her question would lead to a different topic.

"When the Dominion attacked, they fought back, routing the elves several times. But the victory went to the Thalmor, and the Legions under Decianus were forced into the desert, marching without water and without shelter from the blistering heat of the Alik'r Desert. Eventually, the man made it back to the Imperial City, aiding the Emperor in capturing the elven general and driving them back. The man lived his life until one day, he arrived in Skyrim. He found out that he was born with a great gift, and he went on a journey to find out what it meant."

It was silent for a few minutes after he finished his story. He hadn't desired to tell it, but he didn't know how else to answer her question. "But that doesn't answer my question. I want to know how you could look like a man in his thirtieth year, yet are old enough to have fought in the Great War."

"I don't know. I assume it has something to do with the Dragonblood, but what, I know not."

"And the Greybeards do?"

"I don't know, but they better know something."

There was a lull as Tacitus took the meat off the fire and they ate. Once they were finished, he set about smoking the rest of the meat so that they would have food for the rest of their journey and didn't waste any meat.

She tried to get Tacitus to "tell more stories" but he refused, acting towards her the same way he did everyone else. They agreed that it would be best to keep a watch and Lydia rolled up in her blanket to get as much sleep as she could before her watch.

The following days went in much the same way, and though Lydia tried getting Tacitus to tell her more stories whenever they made camp at night, he always brushed her off. Neither did he ask about her except to make sure her equipment was satisfactory, or if she had been wounded whenever they came across more bandits. It was a long road around the massive mountain that took up much of the center of Skyrim, and there were many places for the outlaws to hide in wait for unwary travelers. Yet her excitement was beginning to wear off due to her Thane's antisocial tendencies. Bandit attacks were becoming monotonous, and even the lush green of the riverside plants and the beauty of a landscape that she had never seen before wasn't enough to help her get over the feeling that he thought of her as a burden.

* * *

V

* * *

It was late night the sixth day since setting out from Whiterun before something truly interesting happened. They had crossed the border into the Rift and were camped on the far side of a small stream that went over a cliff and flowed east into the Darkwater River. Lydia was asleep, dreaming of pleasant things, when she was awakened by Tacitus shaking her shoulder and putting a finger to his lips. She noticed the fire had been put out and as she was about to start asking questions, he said,

"Troll. There." He pointed to the overhang and she could see with the moons' light that there was a small cave entrance farther back. "He must have smelled the meat and fire. He started grunting and making strange noises a few minutes ago." He pulled out a piece of flint and lit a torch while she strapped on her armor. He handed her the torch and said, "I'll go in and draw it out. Wait a few metres to the side of the entrance and once we pass you, light him."

She nodded and moved to the cave entrance, waiting for Tacitus to reappear. She could hear him yelling taunts at the troll in that other language he was fond of using, and could hear the beast roaring back at him. Moments later he sprinted past her, the troll following close behind.

"Kill it! Light it!" he screamed at her. He turned back as the troll jumped on him. He managed to get his shield up and avoid being mauled, but he continued yelling at her. She ran up and held the torch against the beast, the hair catching easily and the flame spreading quickly. Tacitus pushed the screaming animal off him and held his arms out in a "what the hell" gesture. "I told you to light it when it came out. Not to let it jump on me."

Lydia barely managed to hold back a laugh. Though her Thane probably didn't find it very funny, the image of a grown man running from a troll and screaming at the top of his lungs was rather comical. "I wasn't expecting it to be so fast. I-"

"What the hell is going on here?" a voice said from off to the right. They both looked and saw a pair of guards with torches standing on the path leading up the mountain. "What the hell was that screaming? You woke up the whole damn village with all the noise you were making."

"What village?" Tacitus asked. They hadn't seen any signs of a village.

"The one that's about two hundred meters up the road there," the other man spoke up.

Confused, they followed the guards up the road and were surprised to see that there was indeed a little village located here. And that they hadn't realised it.

Though to call it a village was being generous because even with what little light there was they could see there were very few buildings here. As was custom for travelers on the Road, they immediately headed for the inn. Most likely the only reason such a small town even had an inn was because of the steps leading to the monastery. Otherwise, the town itself might not even exist.

When he opened the door they were met with the pleasant scent of roasting meat and burning wood, and a wave of heat in the cold night. There were only two people currently in the inn: a balding Nord man stood behind the counter and a blonde Nord woman was sweeping the floor, humming to herself.

The travelers approached the counter and sat on the stools. "Hello there," he said in a deep, Nordic voice. The friendly tone sounded slightly forced, but it made little difference to Tacitus. "How can I help you?"

"We require rooms."

"No food, or..."

"No."

The man seemed surprised but he didn't question it. "How many beds?" he asked eyeing Lydia. Obviously he thought they were together.

"Two."

Again, the surprise was visible, but again he didn't question it. "That'll be twenty septims. You can take the two in that room there," he said, pointing to the large room to their right. "If you need anything just give me a call, or holler at Lynly over there." With that, he went back to ignoring the two patrons and whatever it was he'd been doing previously.

They both went in the room and unstrapped their arms and armour. Tacitus had two basins of water brought so that they could wash a bit. Then they took the opportunity to rest without fear of bandits or wild animals.

* * *

V

* * *

Tacitus woke her up around dawn. Of course, she had no way of knowing how early it was given that they were inside the inn, but she rose without complaint. She watched as her Thane redressed himself, having stripped to nothing but his loincloth, sleeping the way she liked to. She couldn't resist the temptation to roam her eyes over his body. Though they had washed themselves somewhat the last few days, they had never thoroughly done so due to Tacitus's desire to arrive as soon as possible. While he wasn't as big as many of the Nord men she'd seen in her life, his time in the Legion had clearly kept him in top physical condition. His muscles were both large and lean, showing that though they were smaller than a typical Nord's, they were much more toned. They rippled under his tan skin as he moved about, donning his red tunic and strapping on his armour. Realising that she was staring, Lydia rushed to get up and dress herself. Unlike her Thane, she had left her things strewn about, and she quickly gathered everything up so she could dress.

Her Thane seemed to be imitating her studies, watching her as she moved and dressed. She immediately became self-conscious, her cheeks turning pink. She had never been with a man in her twenty-three years, though she'd come close a few times, and it was the first time that one had studied her in such a way. She felt uncomfortable with his gaze bearing down on her, almost as if it had weight. All she could think of were the flaws he would no doubt see. Her small breasts, slightly large rear, unkempt hair, and whatever else he would no doubt find wrong with her. She hastened to dress, hoping that maybe he would stop staring at her once her flesh was no longer exposed.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, my Thane," she said shyly.

Breakfast was roasted chicken from the previous night, Tacitus taking a cup of wine with his meal and Lydia settling with water. Once they had eaten, Tacitus made sure to obtain a pair of fur boots. From the look of it, he didn't want to ascend the mountain with the sandals he was wearing. Then it was up the mountain.

Talking with the villagers a bit, they learned it would take at least a day to make it to the monastery. They had enough food to last them the trip, and they had acquired extra furs and blankets in case they had to spend the night without a fire. The horses they would leave behind, for a number of reasons. With nothing further to keep them, they crossed the bridge and took the first step up the Throat of the World.

There were few pilgrims making the journey up the mountain and those that they did pass seemed as interested in talking to them as they were to them. It was strange when one considered that this time of year was the prime time to go. There were, however, a number of different fauna roaming the mountain, coming across mountain goats and wolves as often as they did trolls and saber cats. The day passed much the same as all the previous ones: a few kills, some breathtaking sights, occasional stops at the epitaphs lining the stairway, and complete silence the rest of the time.

The silence was starting to get on Lydia's nerves. She was tired of not being able to speak. Or listening to someone else speak. One never knew how much they could miss the sound of another person's voice until they went extended periods without. She'd been toying with the idea of attempting to start a conversation for the last hour, but hadn't been able to work up the nerve. But it was nearly night and she hadn't spoken a word aloud since the previous night. Finally, she couldn't take it any more.

"My Thane," she breathed out.

"We still have time before we must camp. Keep moving," he said, automatically assuming that she was suggesting they make camp.

"That isn't what this is about," she said, her voice slightly agitated.

"What then?" he asked disinterestedly.

She thought for a moment. She didn't have a topic in mind when she decided to initiate a conversation. Nor did she think it would get this far. "Tell me another story."

She thought she could see a hint of a smile, but that would've been completely out of character. "Two within one week? That is too many," he shook his head.

Lydia tried not to sound like she was whining. "It's too quiet. I can't stand the silence anymore."

"Silence is healthy."

"Not when that's all there ever is," she retorted. His stubbornness was starting to bother her.

"You are to do what I tell you, are you not?"

"Yes," she replied hesitantly, not sure she liked where he was going.

"Shut up."

She was about to give up. He obviously didn't want to talk, and it sounded like she was getting on his nerves. She didn't know how much farther she could push it.

But at the same time, she was determined to break down the barrier between them and end the awkwardness she felt.

* * *

V

* * *

They set camp under an overhang as day gave way to night. The bright blues and greens of the Boreas in the sky flashed brilliantly alongside the twin moons as the two sat around the fire that night. The crisp air was refreshing, and the smell of goat roasting was heavenly.

Tacitus had them sprinting up every other set of stairs and walking the paths, giving them decent exercise. Yet they hadn't made it halfway up the mountain at that pace, which meant one more night spent outside. And given the rapidly decreasing temperature and occasional flurries higher up, the night wouldn't be spent comfortably. If they wanted to spend the night in comfort, they would have to move their asses.

* * *

V

* * *

Tacitus pushed them through the night. Once he spotted the monastery he decided that they were too close to stop, and he kept them going late into the night. But it was worth it, for they made it to High Hrothgar just before midnight.

The freezing temperature combined with the snow and wind at such a high altitude made the night one of the coldest he'd ever experienced. The only thing that came close was the nights in the Alik'r Desert. But the monastery provided hopes of roaring fires, hot food, and good beds.

The massive black-stoned monastery looked more like a fortress. Thick walls and peaked towers looked almost carved from the mountainside, the central tower easily thirty metres high. A chest and some supplies sat at the base of the tower. Though it was late night, only a few lights shone from within, though he could see multiple windows in the rock, which was etched with numerous figures. Two staircases went around either side, and they ascended the right set, pushing open the massive black doors and entering the home of the Greybeards.

* * *

The first thing he noticed was the heat. Fires burned throughout the monastery, and the stone walls served to retain much of it, making the inside incredibly warm in the storm of cold surrounding it. Then he took in the sights: the walls etched with more carvings, stone braziers and fireplaces, pots, plants, places of prayer, banners with those strange symbols like the ones in Bleak Falls Barrow.

They walked into the main room, where three robed men stood around a diamond of stone tiles. Passageways led deeper into the monastery, and a fourth man entered from one of these, garbed in the same manner as his companions. They truly did have grey beards. Indeed, everything about them seemed grey, from their long, wide-sleeved robes, to their inscrutable countenances. None of them said a word for a few minutes. They seemed to be studying him as he was them. Then,

"So...a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age," the fourth said in a deep, wizened voice. "Come forward, stand between us," he gestured to the diamond.

Tacitus removed his helm and stepped forward, his Housecarl remaining behind. "You call me Dragonborn. What does that mean?" he asked. He wanted answers. If these Greybeards had them, he would have them.

"First, let us see if you truly are Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice," the man said. "Do not be afraid. Your Shout will not harm us." Tacitus took a breath, then yelled,

"_Fus_!" The man stumbled back a few paces.

"Dragonborn. It is you. Welcome, to High Hrothgar." He approached the Cyrodilic and continued. "I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards." He had started to notice that the others didn't talk much. "Now tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?"

What? _They _called _him_ here, and now _they_ wanted to know why _he_ was here? "You called me to this place. I came to find out what it is to be Dragonborn."

"We are here to guide you in that pursuit. Just as the Greybeards have sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood, who came before you," he smiled.

"I am not the only one?"

"You are not the first. There have been many of the Dragon Blood since Akatosh first bestowed that gift upon mortal-kind. Whether you are the only one of this age...that is not ours to know. You are the only one that has been revealed thus far. That is all I can say."

His quest for answers wasn't looking too promising so far. This man did not want to give him any answers before what he deemed the proper time. That much he could already tell. "Who are you? What is this place?"

"We are the Greybeards. Followers of the Way of the Voice. You stand in High Hrothgar, on the slopes of Kynareth's sacred mountain. Here we commune with the voice of the sky, and strive to achieve balance, between our inner and outer selves. A better question is, who are _you_?"

He had to refrain from grimacing. This was going nowhere fast. "I am just a man from Cyrodiil trying to return home."

He appeared amused. "Obviously, you are rather more than that. You have much to learn, and we have much we can teach you. Are you ready and willing to learn? That is the most important question of all."

"I am."

Arngeir nodded, accepting his reply. "You have shown that you are Dragonborn. You have the inborn gift. But do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out before you? That remains to be seen." He circled around Tacitus, eyeing him and studying him. Trying to read him like the pages of a book.

"Without training, you have already taken the first steps towards projecting your voice into a Thu'um- a Shout. Now let us see if we can teach you. For now, you and your companion will be allowed to rest. You will need your strength for what lies ahead. Tomorrow, you will begin your training." Tacitus nodded. Arngeir turned to Lydia. "Few are allowed within the walls of High Hrothgar. As you were entrusted to accompany the Dragonborn here, we shall give you our hospitality. But you will not be allowed to view his training. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Yes, Master Arngeir. Thank you." She bowed her head.

"Master Borri will show you to your quarters. I do not know how you slept during your travels, but here you will have separate beds. There will be none of the rowdiness such as the peasants engage in." For the first time his voice was stern, and his tone left no room for debate.

The one called Borri led them through the passages of the inner monastery. Tacitus didn't know what purpose there was in hermits having so much space, but at the the moment, he didn't really care. He was tired and worn out. He wanted to get his armor off and drop into a bed.

They finally were shown into a large room in the east wing of the monastery that had plenty of space for two people to live comfortably. There was a large fireplace, two beds, two tables and chair sets, bookcases, writing materials, a few shelves. Anything they might need was provided.

The monk bowed and said, "Dovahkiin," before turning to go back the way he came. Tacitus swore he felt the ground shake when he said it. But the foremost thing on his mind was getting out of his armor and into that bed. Lydia had already begun stripping and was slipping under the furs when he began undressing. Soon he was drifting into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

V

* * *

He was woken early the next morning by one of the Greybeards. It looked to be the same one that brought him here. Borri, he thought his name was. The man bowed and said, "Dovahkiin," then motioned towards the door. Tacitus quickly pulled on his tunic and fur boots, and strapped on his pugio, then followed the old man back to the main room.

The rest of the Greybeards stood around the diamond, waiting for them. "Good morning, Dragonborn. I hope you are ready. You're training begins now." The old man paced a bit, saying nothing for a time. "When you Shout, you speak in the language of dragons. Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn and master Words of Power," he explained. "All Shouts are made of three Words of Power. As you master each, your Shout will become progressively stronger." He took another pause, staring at Tacitus, who just stood and said nothing. "Not all words will produce a Shout, however. We will teach you to speak in the language of the Dragons. You will learn all Words of Power, and you will master the Way of the Voice. Come, Dragonborn. We will continue your lessons in the archives."

* * *

V

* * *

Lydia jerked awake. She'd been having a pleasant dream about a muscular warrior sweeping her off her feet when her unconscious mind realised someone was calling her name. She sat up and saw one of the Greybeards at the entrance.

"Good morning. I have prepared a small breakfast for you in the dining room. Dress and follow me."

Lydia quickly pulled on some clothes and followed the old man to her food. "Where is my Thane?"

"He is in the archives, studying. You will see him again tonight, do not worry. Until then however, he cannot be disturbed. I will bring you whatever you desire from the library so that you may pass the time. We have no equipment for you to train your body, but there are ways to keep your body conditioned."

"Thank you."

She ate quickly and waited in her quarters for Arngeir to return with the texts she had requested.

* * *

V

* * *

And so time passed in such a fashion, the days turning to weeks, which turned to months. Tacitus spent his time between studies in the archives and practicing Shouts in the courtyard outside. Sometimes they would have him meditate, but he tended to use that time doing other things. At night, he would often train his body so that he didn't become soft. Most of the time he spent with his Housecarl was used to train, and he was glad for the opportunity to see what she'd learned. Days turned to weeks, which turned to months.

It was Sundas, 12th of Morning Star; just over four months since they first stepped into High Hrothgar. So much had been learned. Knowledge is power, and Tacitus had much knowledge now indeed. Not just the Way of the Voice. But as much of what the Greybeards could teach him about being Dragonborn, something that had been lost through the ages, and of the history of Tamriel, and Nirn itself.

The Greybeards called him to the main room. As was usually the case, they stood around the diamond of tiles, where he would stand between them. "Good morning, Dovahkiin. There is one final trial for you to complete. Retrieve the horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav. Remain true to the Way of the Voice, and you will return."

"What does a horn have to do with being Dragonborn?"

Arngeir appeared disappointed. "That is for you to find out, Dovahkiin. Upon your return, we will speak. Go now with the blessing of the Greybeards.

* * *

V

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea, my Thane? It could be a trap."

They had made it to Ustengrav, soldiered through the ruins, and made it to the final resting place of Jurgen Windcaller. But where the horn should have been, was a note written to the Dragonborn. He was being called to The Sleeping Giant, back in Riverwood. This mystery person desired a chat the Dragonborn of legend, and they would get more than a chat for wasting his time.

He pushed open the door and walked into the warm inn. "I know. What else can we do? I've lived through worse than half-assed assassination attempts."

"I thought I told you not to come back." Tacitus looked and saw the short Breton woman walking toward him. "Get out of my inn."

"I would like to rent the attic room," he said.

She made a face and pointed up. "Well we don't _have_ an attic room, but you can have the one on the left there. Right near the counter."

"Nevermind. We'll get out." He turned to leave but felt a hand grab his shoulder.

"I think you should go wait in the room. _Now_." He looked at Lydia then back at the Breton. "Go on."

_Lei non può essere. Impossibile. _"You? You aren't the one I'm here for." He had a small smirk on his face. "Sei troppa piccola."

"Vai a farti fottere."

Tacitus's eyebrow shot up. Now things were starting to get interesting. "Va bene. Farci vedere dove questo porta."

They followed the mysterious Breton to the room farthest right, next to the counter. "Close the door." She opened the wardrobe on the far side and pulled a lever, which revealed a hidden passage behind a fake wall. They followed her into the room below, Tacitus keeping a hand on his pugio. "So," she said, turning. "You're the Dragonborn? You must be looking for this," she picked up a horn off the table and held it out. "I hope the Greybeards are right, and you really are Dragonborn."

"What do you want?

"I didn't go to all this trouble on a whim. I had to find out if the rumours were true. Just hear me out."

"You have my attention. For now."

"I'm part of a group that's been looking for you...well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I can tell you more, I need to make sure I can trust you."

He raised an eyebrow. "You summoned me here. If anyone has cause to question the other's intentions, it is me."

"If you don't trust me, why did you come?"

"I trust no one anymore. Should I not have come?"

"We'll find out won't we?"

Silence...

"You mentioned the Thalmor are after you."

"Yes. We're very old enemies, and if my suspicions are correct, they may have something to do with the dragons. But that's not important right now. What _is_ is that you might be Dragonborn. "

"Why are you looking for a Dragonborn?"

"_We _remember what most don't: the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragonslayer. You're the only one who can truly kill a dragon- by devouring its soul. Can you do it?"

"If that's what you call it, then I suppose so."

She had a grim smile. "Well, I'll see for myself soon enough."

"What do you mean?"

"Dragons aren't simply coming back. They're being resurrected. They weren't gone somewhere, they were dead; killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now they're coming back for some reason, and I need you to help me stop it."

Tacitus peered closely at her for a moment. "That's some strong product you're drinking. Where can I get some?"

Instead of the reply he expected, a look came over her face as she said, "Hmh. You know, a few decades ago, I said something similar to a colleague of mine. Well it turned out he was right and I was wrong."

"So you say. Where is your evidence?"

"I visited some of the ancient burial mounds and found them empty. And I know where the next one will happen. We'll go there, and you'll kill it. If we succeed, I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"How do you know where the next will be?"

She smiled. "I have you to thank for that. Remember that stone you retrieved from Bleak Falls Barrow? The Dragonstone is a map of ancient dragon burial sites. I've looked at which ones that are now empty. The pattern is pretty clear." She pointed out a few spots on the map on the table. "It's spreading from the southeast- down in the Jeralls near Riften."

He sighed lightly. "So where are we headed?"

She pointed to a small location outside the city of Windhelm. "Kynesgrove. It's a small village near Windhelm. There's an ancient dragon burial mound near there. If we can get there before it happens, maybe we can learn how to stop it."

Tacitus sighed and shook his head. "Well, we had best be going then."

"Alright. Go wait upstairs for me. I need to get into my traveling gear. I'll be up in a minute."

He nodded and went up into the inn with Lydia. The Breton came up a few minutes later, wearing a set of leather armor and with a strange curved sword hanging at her belt. She let the Nord behind the bar know she was traveling, then they were out the door and on the Road.

As they only had two horses, the Breton had to ride with Lydia. The trip to Kynesgrove was a long one. It was seven days hard riding to Ivarstead; getting to Kynesgrove would take about double that. Due to neither party being willing to answer any questions, the trip was almost entirely silent. Tacitus slept very little over the next two weeks.

* * *

V

* * *

"This is Kynesgrove. Not much to look at, I know, but there's a tavern- serves a nice dark ale. Nothing like The Sleeping Giant, of course, but it'll be good."

"I would rather get this done and leave," he stated.

"Well that's too bad. We both want a drink and some hot food," she said, gesturing to Lydia, "and we outnumber you. So we're going to the-" She stopped short as a small group of people came running down the hill. The Breton tried to ask what was happening but the people were screaming and no one stopped to talk. He grabbed a woman as she ran by.

"What is going on?"

"There's a dragon! It's attacking!" she yelled hysterically.

"What dragon?"

"It flew over the town and landed on the old burial mound. Nobody knows where it came from- one of the farmers saw it and ran into the inn to get us out." He let her go and she ran to catch up with the rest of the people.

"Come on," the Breton said, "We need to find out what's happening."

They drew their swords and advanced up the hill. The heavy snowfall served to hide their presence, and they stuck to the rocks to avoid detection. They were getting closer and could now hear the wingbeats of the dragon. It was loosing Shouts at the burial mound, saying things in Dragon tongue.

"Sahloknir, ziil gro dovah ulse!"

Another roar and Shout. "Slen tiid vo!" It shouted again and this time the mound exploded in a wave of dirt, a roar issuing from the source.

A massive skeletal dragon clambered from the hole, faint lights swirling around it. The flesh was gradually coming back, turning the beast into its former self. "Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?"

"Geh, Sahloknir," the first replied. "Kaali mir." The beast turned to Tacitus, the glowing red eyes boring through him. He now recognized it as the same dragon that had attacked Helgen. "Ful losei, Dovahkiin? Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi... You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah."

Tacitus stood up, looking the dragon directly in the eyes. "Fos dreh hi laan, sivaas?"

"Hi eldraag zey, Dovahkiin. Nuz dreh hi mindok wo Zu'u los? Dreh hi mindok naan truk do hin siifur zoor?"

"Fos dreh hi tinvaak do?"

"Nivok Dovahkiin. Hi los vruun wah dir hinskaal. Sahloknir, krii daar joorre!" it shouted and flew off.

The resurrected dragon roared and Flapped its wings, taking flight. "I am Sahloknir! Hear my Voice and despair!"

Sahloknir circled around the three humans, looking for an opportunity to strike. He was smaller than both dragons Tacitus had previously faced. But that didn't change the fact that he was still much larger than the three of them.

Both Lydia and the Breton had their bows out, firing arrows from cover, trying to bring the beast down. "You're the dragonslayer! How do we kill it?" she shouted at him.

"Force it to land and I will kill him! Aim for the wings!"

The snow and wind made it difficult for them to get an accurate shot. Most bounced off the dragon's scaly hide, or missed altogether. Tacitus looked to the sky and Shouted,

"Lok Vah Koor!" Instantly the weather cleared, the light of the heavens shining on the dragon's form and allowing the archers to fire more accurately.

"Rinik pruzah, Dovahkiin! Nuz los nii ganog wah viik zey?"

"Yol Toor Shul!" A ball of fire flew at the dragon and smashed into its side, swirling around it and stunning it. The attack didn't seem to do much damage, though, as its armored hide protected it from the flames. Using the Voice had become much easier after four months of intense training, but it still took much effort to use too many Shouts without giving his throat time to recover. It was starting to feel a little sore.

Roars echoed throughout the area, arrows finding their way into the wyrm's wings. Lydia and the Breton were distanced from each other and in cover, forcing the dragon to have to choose between one of them and Tacitus, who was keeping mobile, his shield up and using his surroundings for cover when he could. This allowed one or other to always get in a shot when it tried to attack, thus drawing its attention.

His opportunity came when the dragon landed. He charged the beast, and as it reared its head to attack, he Shouted, "Fus Ro Dah!" The Shout slammed into the beasts head, and instead of merely stunning it as he expected, he heard a loud snap as its neck contorted. It thudded to the ground and they stood, swords drawn, waiting. Waiting for the dragon to attack.

Instead, the body began to burn away the same as the first, leaving nothing but bones. Tacitus fell to his knees again, face contorted in a grimace, as the dragon's soul merged with his; devoured, just as the legends said. Pain. Excruciating pain, then...bliss. Power like no mortal could ever hope to possess. He felt...good. Tacitus stood up and rolled his shoulders.

The Breton looked at him in awe, the shock clear in her voice. "I'll be damned. You did it! Gods above."

He gave her a look that said "I told you, bitch" and waited for a response.

"So you really are Dragonborn?" she said wondrously. "Heh," she shook her head, "I owe you some answers, don't I? Go ahead; nothing held back."

"Who are you and what do you want with me?"

"My name is Delphine. I'm one of the last remaining members of the Blades. As a Legionnaire from Cyrodiil, I'm sure you know that the Blades used to be dragonslayers. And that we served the Dragonborn, the ultimate dragonslayer. For the last two hundred years, since the last Dragonborn emperor, we searched for a purpose. With the dragons returning, our purpose is pretty clear."

"A Blade? I had heard you were all hunted to extinction by the damn elves."

"A few of us managed to group together and survive to the end of the war. Once it was over, we split up and cut contact. I don't know who else has survived."

"What do you know of the dragons' return?"

"Not a damn thing. I was just as surprised as you to find that big black dragon here."

"That is the same one that attacked Helgen."

Her face showed shock again. "Really? That's interesting...same dragon. Damn it! We're blundering around in the dark! We need to figure out what's going on."

"What do you suggest?" The Greybeards hadn't enlightened him much on the dragons of the current age. Perhaps now he could get some answers. And if she was a Blade, she could be a very useful ally indeed.

"We need to figure out who's bringing these dragons back to life. Who resurrected the big one that's raising the others. The Thalmor are our best lead. If it's not them, they ought to know who it is."

"Why the Thalmor?"

"Just a feeling. The Empire had Ulfric. Once his head rolled, the war would be over. Then a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war is resumed. Now the dragons attack indiscriminately while the armies ravage the land. Skyrim is weakened. The _Empire_ is weakened. Who benefits but the Thalmor?"

"So we need to find out everything they know. Any ideas?"

She thought for a moment. He could see his Housecarl shifting from foot to foot in his peripheral vision. "If we could get into the Thalmor Embassy..." she said, more to herself than anyone else. "It's the center of their operations in Skyrim," she looked at him. "If there's any place where they keep the information we need, it's there."

Tacitus nodded his head. He was liking this idea so far. A raid on the Thalmor's Skyrim headquarters? Sounded like a damn fun time. Well, for him anyway. Unlikely you could say the same for the pointed-ears. "So how do we get in?"

"I'm not sure yet. I have some ideas, but I'll need time to pull things together." She thought for a few seconds. "Meet me back in Riverwood. If I'm not back when you get there, wait for me. I have a few things to take care of."

* * *

**All dragon language not taken from in-game was translated from English using the translator on. Great site. I highly recommend checking it out if you're a big fan of the game. Translator found in the "Language" tab. **


End file.
